


雨宿り (Shelter)

by cosmicruin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Paranormal, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/pseuds/cosmicruin
Summary: Scraped knees and broken bones are incomparable to a wounded heart, but Sehun believes it’s not incurable as long as he takes his time.





	雨宿り (Shelter)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [sekaisquad](https://twitter.com/sejongsquad) Fic Fest Round 2017.
> 
> Hello, prompter. I tweaked the prompt just a little so it would fit what I had in mind. That said, I hope you like it!
> 
>  **Original post date:** 170907  
>  **Complete fic posted:** 171122

Sehun shoved the last of his rice into his mouth, bobbing his head along to the latest K-Pop tune rolling out from the speakers. He sat perched on a stool inside a convenience store, watching a few bold souls brave through the heavy downpour. It had been a deceptively good-weathered day until the formation and gathering of dark clouds late in the afternoon. He could only thank his foresight of clocking out early and laziness to cook before the merciless rainfall started.

Fifteen minutes and one Melona bar later, the rain weakened and turned to a light shower. Sehun hoped it would stay like this until he reached home. He grabbed his umbrella from where he deposited it by the entrance and opened it with a press of a button. The umbrella was yellow orange in color and patterned with Bichon Frise puppies depicting several poses and expressions, ranging from napping on a pillow to chewing a bone. Sehun thought of it as his greatest find from the thrift shop his mother had dragged him to several years back. Though sturdy and withstood the harshest weathers, it never failed to draw odd, fascinated stares from people who saw. Sehun understood it wasn’t everyday a grown man would use such a childish umbrella, but he continued walking, unfazed by the attention.

A flash of white entered his line of sight, and then a body was bumping into him.

The impact wasn’t too strong, but it had Sehun stepping back. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” he complained, annoyed.

The culprit—a guy—didn’t respond and stood stationary on the spot. Sehun estimated him to be around his age, almost his height if not for the missing few inches. He was soused and his clothes clung to his body, hair plastered to his forehead, shoulders slumped, and eyes downcast.

Sehun felt bad for his initial outburst now that he’d taken a good look at this person. He normally wouldn’t linger and leave right away, but he couldn’t bring himself to move his feet.

Not when his eyes were trained on the white light on this guy’s chest, its soft glow a sharp contrast of its meaning.

Sehun breached the distance so he could take the stranger’s hand and curl his fingers around the umbrella handle. The stranger’s forlorn mask cracked and showed hints of surprise and confusion at his action.

“You’ll need the umbrella more than I will.” The words were out before Sehun could stop himself. “Believe me, catching a cold and nursing heartache are two things you wouldn’t want to experience at the same time.”

The stranger’s expression became guarded. Sehun picked up on his unease and suspicion, so he stepped away fast and, with a hurried bow in goodbye, ran past him in a hasty retreat. He placed his bag over his head, clothes catching the raindrops and wetness seeping in. He lamented the loss of his umbrella, but nothing about it could be done now. He could only wish the new owner would take care of it like he did.

On the subway ride home, Sehun slipped on his earbuds in an attempt to block the two old men’s gossiping beside him; but no matter how much D.O. crooned in his ears about playing another slow jam, his mind always wandered back to the drenched stranger drowning in thick layers of desolation.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

The distant sound of merry laughter drew close and matched the rhythm of the footsteps pounding on the pavement. Sehun stepped aside as a flock of children in sky blue uniforms ran past him, until they recognized who he was and greeted him good morning in cheerful chorus. Sehun reciprocated with as much enthusiasm and watched the children dash the rest of the way, tiny hands holding on tight to the straps of their backpacks. He strolled down the rest of the sidewalk, basking in the warmth of the early morning sun. He turned left at the end and passed through an entrance archway bearing the name of the school in white block letters. Beyond it were more sky blue uniform-clad children scattered and playing about.

Despite its name and location, Garden of Eden was neither a place of worship nor exclusively catered to the rich. No one knew it was a school unless they ventured further for a better look, easily passing off as private property owned by the Gangnam elite. Half-true since the school was owned by the son of an affluent businessman, whose strong desire in providing a healthy and safe learning environment for children of all kinds was realized upon its foundation. It showed in the meticulous hiring of teachers and other staff, the provision of the latest facilities, the acknowledgement of parents’ legitimate concerns and the quick response and resolution to problems.

Lights flooded the clinic on the flip of the switch. Sehun breezed through his work e-mails and trashed spam. He filed important updates of students recently hospitalized and fixed his schedule for the rest of the week. He finished reviewing profiles before the door opened and the scent of caffeine tickled his nose.

“You’re late,” Sehun said, albeit smiling.

“Am not,” Seo Youngho shot back, mirroring the smile. “I’m ten minutes early, actually.” He placed a tall cup of coffee beside the laptop, followed by a paper bag containing a chocolate muffin. He sat on the vacant chair and sipped his drink.

Youngho’s weekend proved more eventful than Sehun’s based on his stories. He also gushed about his fourth graders and their shining talent for composing poetry. Youngho took pride in each of his student’s work, often encouraging and helpful as an English teacher. He acted the same as a colleague and friend.

Sehun shared his own weekend accounts. One of them was his umbrella hunting woes.

Youngho groaned. “This replacement search has been going on for two weeks. You shouldn’t be so picky about umbrellas, of all things.”

“I really liked that umbrella,” Sehun said, eating the last of his muffin. “Just looking at the puppies on it lifted my mood on a bad day.”

“If you didn’t give your umbrella away, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“If you’d seen how sad that guy looked, you’d give it to him, too.”

Sehun caught the flicker of red faster than he picked up on the sound of the opening door and the soft sobbing. He was on his feet in an instant, ushering a little boy inside and helped him hop on the bed. Around his left wrist pulsed a red ring of light.

Junki; second grade student; fell from his bike. Sehun had coaxed out the information while examining the injured wrist with careful fingers.

“You know how this works, right?” Sehun covered Junki’s wrist with his hand. Junki nodded with a sniffle. “Let’s count together. One, two, three.”

Sehun removed his hand.

The red light had disappeared.

“Try bending your wrist.”

Junki complied, fear obvious in his face, but not for long. He broke out into a grin, bending and twisting his wrist with more confidence now. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He looped tiny arms around Sehun’s waist in a hug. “Thank you, Nurse Oh!”

Sehun ruffled Junki’s hair affectionately. “Be more careful next time you ride a bike, okay?”

“And Nurse Booty has saved the day once again,” Youngho proclaimed, watching Junki wave goodbye and run out of the clinic.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Sehun griped, though without real heat. Youngho had overheard the nickname from the TAs last year who harbored crushes on Sehun and couldn’t stop ogling at his backside whenever he dropped by the faculty room or if they visited the clinic. Now Youngho used it to tease, though Sehun had long moved on from giving explosive reactions.

The bell chimed, signaling the official start of class. The clinic fell into silence after Youngho’s departure, but Sehun didn’t mind. He savored the remaining peacefulness of his morning by reading through medical records of new transferees and segregating them accordingly. By the time he’d drained his coffee, an hour had passed and another student came seeking his assistance accompanied by a teacher.

No two days were alike working as a school nurse. Sehun liked the challenge of the unexpected. He disliked seeing the students crying and suffering, especially the younger ones who were more accident-prone than the average child their age, but the bright smiles and hugs they showered him with after patching them up was truly rewarding. Sometimes his duties kept him on his feet and away from the clinic, so he tried not to stay out too long, worried a student might be in need.

Five-thirty rolled by when Sehun left school, held back by a teacher who had twisted their ankle in the middle of classroom decorating. Youngho had left earlier for a prior appointment, leaving him with the choice of heading home early or eating out again. He rode the bus and glanced at the darkening sky upon alighting at his destination. He hoped it wouldn’t rain while he was without an umbrella. The thought sparked a memory of his yellow orange umbrella with the cute Bichon Frises, reminding him of his loss and triggered a new wave of sadness. Ridiculous, but he missed his umbrella a lot.

Missed it so much he saw an exact replica of the umbrella cradled to the chest of a stranger resembling the one he had bumped into two weeks ago.

The stranger stood by the doors of the convenience store on the lookout for someone. The longer Sehun stared, the surer he was of this stranger’s identity. Gathering courage, he approached the stranger—

“You!”

—who spotted him and pointed a finger in his direction.

“Me!” Sehun halted mid-step and raised both hands in front of him.

The stranger looked as shocked as he felt, eyes wide and mouth open in an almost perfect ‘O.’

The awkwardness amplified as the moment dragged on and their gazes locked without breaking.

When Sehun dared blink and found his wits back, the stranger now stood in front of him with some respectable space between.

“My facial recognition skills aren’t the best, but I shouldn’t be mistaken. You’re the same guy who gave me this umbrella, right?”

The stranger sounded confident though his expression hinted uncertainness. However, there was no mistaking the umbrella in his possession, and the white light on the same spot on his chest.

Sehun nodded slowly, knowing the stranger was waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again,” he admitted. He couldn’t stop smiling holding his precious umbrella in his hands once more. “Were you waiting to see me here?”

The question sounded presumptuous in Sehun’s head. Twice more after hearing it with his own ears and had him cringing internally. Why wouldn’t his filter work during important times?

The stranger didn’t take offense, thankfully, although he laughed, a melodious sound.

“Of course not. I’m not that free. I do pass by this route every day since it’s on my way home. I’ve been carrying your umbrella with me in case I see you again so I could return it when I do. Your umbrella’s been incredibly helpful during surprise rainy days."

“Glad to know that.”

“And now I’m returning it to its rightful owner.”

“Thank you, even if you really didn’t have to.”

The stranger smiled. A genuine one, Sehun could tell, by the way it reached his eyes.

“I guess this is where we part ways? Thank you again for the umbrella.” The stranger bowed in goodbye but hadn’t turned around before his stomach grumbled loud, the sound impossible to miss even with the added background noise.

Sehun pressed his lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping.

The stranger slowly stood upright, face scrunching up in embarrassment, cheeks pink. “Don’t be mistaken: that’s my stomach’s way of saying goodbye.”

Sehun didn’t hold back on the laughter this time. “I know a great noodle place nearby. Do you want to come with?”

Hours later, Sehun returned home with a full stomach, precious umbrella safely tucked in his bag, and the image of Kim Jongin’s beautiful smile burning bright in his mind.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Sehun sagged against his seat, easing the dull ache in his calves and back. He’d been on his feet from the moment he turned up for work, incidents ranging from fainting spells to accidental burns during lab experiments. He’d had little time for a reprieve, the longest lasting ten minutes when he guzzled a bottle of water and wolfed down crackers before a new patient walked into the clinic and stole the remainder of his lunch break. A good chunk of the day was gone now that things had slowed down, but he relished in the peace just the same, sinking further into the cushiony softness of his chair.

The only consolation for this hectic day was meeting up with friends from high school. They’d gone separate paths after college but kept in touch and hung out together when time permitted. This year had been busy for everyone, only having enough time for short coffee meet-ups, but they worked around their schedules and decided on this specific date for a barbecue and karaoke session.

Sehun considered himself decent at best in carrying a tune. He sang choice ballads in between upbeat DJ DOC performances so his friends could recharge. Years and age had stripped away their teenage liveliness, though his friends’ dancing skills retained its comical quality and kept him in stitches.

Sehun took a break after participating in a Dynamic Duo number. He set out of the room, muted sounds drifting through the cracks of closed doors. The rooms in this karaoke place were only semi-soundproofed, exposing him to various sounds: a wailer butchering KISS’ _Because I’m A Girl_ , an ear-splitting version of miss A’s _I Don’t Need a Man_ , a banshee shrieking and rendering their song choice unidentifiable. He escaped from the auditory assault to the end of the hallway where the smoking area was located, a relatively quiet spot on this floor.

He found Jongin here, leaning against the wall and one hand tucked inside his jeans front pocket. He was busy with his phone, thumb swiping across the screen with brows furrowed in concentration. Sehun stood torn between two decisions. Jongin chose one for him when he lifted his head, face relaxing and corners of his mouth rising.

“Hey.”

Sehun raised a hesitant hand in return. “Hey. Small world we live in, huh?”

“It sure is,” Jongin agreed. He pocketed his phone and straightened up. “Here with friends?”

Sehun nodded, stepping a little closer. “You?”

“Group blind date.” Jongin pulled a displeased face.

“Were you roped into it against your will?”

“I was lured in by the promise of being treated to a meal, but my colleagues conveniently forgot to inform me we would eat in the company of five other people I’ve only met today.”

“Meeting new people isn’t too bad.” Sehun slid his hands into his cardigan pockets and glued his back to the wall. “If you hit it off, then it’s great. If not, there are others.”

“I’m not against blind dates. I just don’t want to do it right now. Some consideration would’ve been nice. The excitement in finding potential partners must’ve impaired their judgment.”

Jongin’s tone was nothing short of biting; the frustration and annoyance in his words palpable. Sehun was taken aback at the stringent commentary, but it helped put the pieces together in his head. He cast a furtive glance at the white light on Jongin’s chest. The question was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked, but Sehun reined in the urge.

An awkward silence befell them. A woman’s soulful rendition of B1A4’s _Tried to Walk_ filtered in from one of the rooms and eased it some.

The silence further broke from the ascension of footsteps on the winding staircase adjacent the smoking area. A female employee emerged carrying a tray of drinks. Sehun saw red glowing on her left shoulder; caught the subtle flinch when she bumped it by accident on a passing customer. He reached her in three steps and laid a hand on the afflicted shoulder. The contact lasted three seconds before she spun around and away from his touch.

Three seconds enough for the red glow to disappear.

“Yes?” She scowled, tone cross.

Luck sided with Sehun by providing him with the perfect excuse. From his pocket he produced a pain relief patch, an unused extra he had bought for one of his friends who complained of a backache hours prior. “Your shoulder seems to be hurting. You might want to put this on if your shift isn’t ending anytime soon. It will help.”

Sehun braced himself for a lashing out, but she looked truly surprised. Though skeptical, she accepted the patch, mumbling her thanks and hurrying off.

“How did you know she was in pain?” Jongin’s question reminded Sehun he was still there and witnessed the exchange, genuine confusion painted on his features.

“She wasn’t hiding it well,” Sehun chose to say among the hundred other options in his mind. Jongin didn’t seem too convinced, so he tacked on the observation of her flinching.

Jongin was quiet for a moment. “You have very good eyes,” he remarked, one side of his mouth tilting upward.

“For things that matter, you could say.”

“It’s a good thing to possess. This way you don’t lose sight of what’s important.” Jongin’s voice sounded oddly distant, like an unanchored ship steadily floating away.

Sehun had nothing to say in response, but he also knew Jongin wasn’t talking about sore shoulders.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

“Meeting someone new can cure a broken heart.”

“Doesn’t work for him. He didn’t look too happy attending the group blind date.”

Sehun studied the colorful flyer Youngho slid toward him as soon as he sat down for lunch. It contained information about the bake sale happening Friday this week, bordered by different kinds of pastries drawn and colored with precision and care. He folded the flyer in neat, equal fours and stuffed it in his slacks pocket.

Youngho let out a low whistle. “Must be hung up on the other person, or hoping for a second chance.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to make assumptions about someone’s life. We’re not even friends.” Sehun stuffed his mouth with the last of his tuna mayo kimbap, regretting a little of not having bought more.

“You’ve swapped names and had dinner together. You’re hardly strangers anymore.” Youngho stole an egg roll from Sehun’s lunchbox. “Maybe he’s still hurting and not ready to move on yet if the light is too bright like you said.”

Sehun shrugged, not interested in discussing the topic further. He might have his curiosities and speculations, but he drew the line on prying into matters that didn’t concern him. Their relation was flimsy at best, what with the erratic meetings and limited conversation, but he was also open to the idea of pursuing a legit friendship with Jongin. He wasn’t one for coincidences, but if the sappy films he was predisposed to watching taught him anything, then nothing was impossible if fate willed it.

Six in the evening saw Sehun arriving at the apartment complex. He met the landlord on his way to the stairs and bowed in polite greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Kang.”

Though in his early sixties, Mr. Kang possessed a jolly disposition and the energy level of a teenager. He smiled in acknowledgement and they climbed the stairs together. Sehun noticed Mr. Kang holding a plastic container containing his signature bulgogi.

“Oh. This?” Mr. Kang tapped the lid upon his inquiry. “A new tenant moved in today. You know it’s tradition to welcome them with my food.”

Sehun’s curiosity’s piqued further when Mr. Kang continued walking with him to his floor and stopped in front of the door beside his apartment. So he’d acquired a new neighbor. He hadn’t heard about this, didn’t know who it was. Sehun could only hope this new neighbor wasn’t a menace like the previous tenant, who made it a mission to let him know about their kinks and left him sleepless and wanting to bleach his ears every morning.

Sehun punched in his passcode slow as possible while Mr. Kang rang the doorbell, hoping to catch a glimpse of his neighbor.

Jongin opened the door, surprise lighting up his face at Mr. Kang’s appearance.

“ _Jongin?_ ” Sehun squawked, startling both him and Mr. Kang.

Mr. Kang gave them a puzzled look. “Do you two know each other?”

“Um—”

“We do,” Jongin answered in Sehun’s place, a tiny smile forming.

“We keep bumping into each other for some reason.” Jongin started the conversation after Mr. Kang left, eyes shining in mild amusement and reflected in his growing smile.

Sehun let out a small laugh. “Quite funny, don’t you think? Now we’re neighbors. Great. Fantastic.”

“Do you want to join me for dinner?” Jongin asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I was preparing before Mr. Kang knocked.”

Sehun had already eaten, but he supposed making room for extra food wouldn’t hurt and _not_ because he caved at the hopefulness in Jongin’s eyes while waiting for an answer.

This was how Sehun found himself sitting in Jongin’s kitchen and served a bowl of rice. The apartments shared a uniform layout, so Sehun didn’t feel too out of place, despite the difference in furniture and their placements. A pile of boxes stacked in the corner of the living room told him Jongin hadn’t finished unpacking, but the place looked habitable in its current state.

They ate in relative silence, punctuated by the clink of utensils and questions revealing details about themselves without sacrificing more private information. Sehun discovered Jongin had the same age and birth year as him. Jongin owned a dance studio where he conducted classes six times a week in one of the busier parts of the city. Jongin was a dancer himself with a background on contemporary but dabbled in different genres. Sometimes he was recruited to participate in big-scale performances. Jongin moved out of his old place but regretted nothing, except for its convenient location of being a five-minute walk away from the studio.

“Why move to a place that adds an extra fifteen minutes of commute?”

“I wanted a change of environment, among other reasons.”

“Is one of them walking under the rain like a K-Pop idol filming an angst-filled music video?”

Jongin threw his head back in jovial laughter, much to Sehun’s genuine surprise and had him gaping. He was unsure if what he said was even remotely hilarious to warrant such a reaction.

“Was that what I looked like on our first meeting?” Jongin asked, laughter tapering off to a chuckle, a hand rubbing over his belly.

Sehun grasped for words but ended up imitating a gaping goldfish. “Sorry?” he managed to croak out, unsure if this was the right response. “You looked distressed and lost back then, so…”

“I was, wasn’t I?” Jongin replied, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself, gaze fixed on the general direction of the kitchen wall. They occupied the same space, but he looked so far away, so out of reach. “You’re not wrong.”

Sehun didn’t respond. Wasn’t sure if he should. He chanced a look at Jongin’s chest; found the white light distracting in its brightness. What Jongin refused to disclose Sehun could discern from this light alone.

“I’d like to think I’ve been better since then,” Jongin said, tone as wistful as the smile he wore.

“I can’t say if you have because I don’t know,” Sehun told him honestly. “But if you haven’t, then you will. Heartbreak isn’t permanent if you allow yourself to heal.”

Jongin studied Sehun for a good, long moment. “Thank you.”

Sehun felt he’d extended his stay long enough and announced he was leaving. Jongin saw him to the door. Sehun was toeing on his shoes when his phone alerted him of a message. He checked the sender in case it was important.

“Your school holds bake sales?”

Jongin was holding up the unfolded bake sale flyer when Sehun turned around. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when he took out his phone.

“We do, yes. It’s an annual thing. I’m going for the free food. Just kidding; I have to go because you never know when any of the children will get hurt.”

“How could children get hurt during a bake sale?” Jongin asked, slightly incredulous in tone.

_Some have bones more delicate than eggshells. Some are sicklier. Some are injury magnets._

“You know how children can get sometimes, even under adult supervision,” Sehun said, instead, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Everything’s all fun and games until one or several of them get skinned elbows and broken arms.”

Jongin made a face that was a cross between sympathy and horror. “Yeah, I think I get it. I hope they stay accident-free when I go.”

Sehun nodded.

Froze.

“Wait, what?”

“I’d like to see what a private school’s bake sale is like,” Jongin said, waving the flyer. “I don’t have class that day. No plans with anyone, either. Surrounding myself with children and tasting their baked treats sounds like a good way to spend a Friday.”

Sehun hadn’t completely processed the reality of the situation, or the sudden giddiness taking over him, but he liked what he was hearing, anyway.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Come Friday, Garden of Eden opened its gates to the public in celebration of their bake sale. Sehun arrived an hour early than his usual so he could help with the preparations alongside the other staff. When everything was ready, they assisted the children in decorating their booths and managed to finish everything before the sale commenced.

People came in steady streams, flocking from one booth to another. The bake sale always attracted a lot of guests thanks to the power of social media and word of mouth. Sehun made his rounds, enjoying samplers the students offered and the overall festive atmosphere. Between discussing medical concerns with parents and settling an argument on which student could have the last of the butter cookies, Sehun always looked over to the gates, perking up each time a guest walked past and deflating if it wasn’t Jongin. They’d exchanged contacts, and though Jongin promised, Sehun refrained from texting him more than twice, even in polite inquiry of what time he’d show up.

The morning sailed smoothly until Sehun was alerted of an accident and rushed to the clinic. Inside he found a bawling little girl on the chair, red lights on both of her knees. Huge, nasty scrapes from tripping on the concrete in a game of tag, her twin sister recounted when Sehun asked.

“Don’t cry, Minhee. Nurse Oh will heal you.” Minji stroked her twin’s back in placation.

“But it hurts!” Minhee wailed, face red from crying.

Sehun sat on his haunches in front of Minhee and flashed what he hoped looked like a comforting smile. “It won’t hurt anymore; I’ll make sure of it. But I’ll need you to calm down first. Can you do that for me, Minhee?”

It took a minute, but Minhee complied.

Sehun praised her for following instructions. He placed both hands on Minhee’s knees, careful not to press down too hard. “Now, we count together. One…”

“Two…” Minji continued.

“T-three!” Minhee finished.

The scrapes were gone from Minhee’s knees once Sehun lifted his hands. The only evidence of their existence was the dried blood, nothing a thorough swipe of wet wipes couldn’t handle.

Minji marveled at her twin’s scrape-free knees. “See, I told you Nurse Oh would heal you! He’s a healing angel!” she gushed.

Minhee’s sobs had dwindled into hiccups. The joy on her face was undeniable. “Thank you, Nurse Oh! Minji is right: you’re a healing angel.”

Sehun grinned. “That’s right: I am Nurse Oh, Garden of Eden Elementary School’s one and only healing angel.”

“Ah, I think the mister standing by the door might be in need of healing, too.”

Sehun followed where Minji was pointing with his eyes. His gut churned in immediate panic.

Jongin was standing by the open door, brows furrowed, expression unreadable.

“Hi.” Jongin’s smile looked weak—forced, almost—worsening the churning in Sehun’s gut. “Is this a bad time?”

What perfect timing for words to abandon Sehun when he needed them most.

“Who is he, Nurse Oh?” Minji asked in timid curiosity. “Is he your friend?”

Minhee approached Jongin and circled him, wide, inquisitive eyes studying his figure. “Mister, why are you so pretty?”

Jongin’s surprise morphed into laughter, untangling some of the knots in Sehun’s stomach and reducing the tension somewhat. “You think I’m pretty?” He didn’t sound offended, judging from the tone he used.

Minhee nodded, pigtails bobbing along. “You are! Nurse Oh is pretty, too, but I think you’re prettier by _just_ ”—she dragged out the syllable—“a little.”

Jongin knelt so he was on eye level with Minhee, regarding her with kind eyes and a gentle expression Sehun saw for the first time. He held her hand and lightly pinched one of her cheeks. “Thank you for the compliment. You’re very kind.”

Minhee’s cheeks turned a rosy shade as she giggled and batted her eyes in bashful approval.

Minji stared at Jongin then returned her attention to Sehun. “Is he an angel, too? He’s so pretty and kind. He must be one.”

Any other time and Sehun would’ve entertained the question. Right now it only added to his heightening panic. He couldn’t blame the children for being guileless, thinking everyone they mingled with were like them. He dared meet Jongin’s probing, waiting gaze, but he couldn’t push out the words past the invisible knot in his throat.

He didn't expect Jongin’s next answer:

“If you think I’m an angel, then I must be one. Do you agree, Nurse Oh?”

Minhee and Minji’s identical stares focused on him.

“I don’t see the harm in believing he is.”

“Then he’s an angel. A pretty angel,” Minhee and Minji agreed in unison, pleased with the answer.

After the twins left, the air in the clinic suddenly seemed oppressive; the space narrower than Sehun was used to. Preserving the remains of his dignity, he played it cool and commented, "Glad you could make it. Sorry I wasn't out there to welcome you myself."

“No worries. One of the teachers told me where I could find you.”

Sehun could feel it: the lingering question in the ensuing silence, loaded and heavy, unspoken but strong. He had been optimistic about this burgeoning friendship, but after what happened, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Rather than waiting for the inevitable, he might as well open a window of escape.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want anything to do with me after this.” Sehun surprised himself with the steadiness of his voice; surprised Jongin with the unexpected statement. He chuckled, loathing how nervous it sounded. He was never used to direct confrontation or initiating it himself. But this was better, he thought (convinced) himself.

“Why would you say that?” Jongin questioned.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sehun questioned back, bewildered as Jongin sounded. “I know, Jongin. I know you know. You saw what I did. You heard what the children said. I—I’m not—”

 _Human_ , he wanted to say, but the word wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“I’m not what you think I am,” spilled out, instead.

The way it played out in Sehuns’s head: Jongin would realize the gravity of the situation once the truth sunk in. He’d show signs of fear, of regret that he’d met him, and Sehun would neither blame nor stop him from storming out if he did.

The reality Sehun was dealt with: Jongin walking further into the clinic, only stopping once he was within arm’s length. Sehun leaned back a little, watching and waiting for Jongin’s next move.

“You’re right. You’re unlike any other. You’re an oddball who gives away umbrellas and invites people he barely knows to eat dinner together. Kindness of that sort is rare in today’s society. You can’t be that kind unless you have ulterior motives. Or an angel.”

A tender smile bloomed on Jongin’s face. "It takes a lot to put me off. I assure you this isn’t one of them.”

Sehun waited for the declaration that Jongin was joking, but the only thing he found was a sincerity that touched him.

“You’re taking this way too easy. I’m actually kind of suspicious," Sehun said, even as relief washed over him in waves that had him smiling, too. “Are you sure you want to continue being friends? You don’t have to feel bad or obligated.” He attached a laugh at the end, ignoring the seep of dread in case Jongin changed his mind.

Sehun’s laughter transformed into a squeak when Jongin held his shoulders and shook him a bit.

“Stop. I meant what I said. I’m not taking it back. I want to continue being friends. And since I have an idea of what you’re hiding, you may as well explain it to me so I can understand better. _If_ you’re willing to tell and trust me."

Maybe it was Sehun’s human nature that distrusted Jongin’s cool acceptance, but the other side whispered there was nothing wrong opening up to someone who was eager to listen and learn. Rare were people who didn’t freak out or toss the word at him; even rarer those who wanted to remain friends and gain further insight.

Sehun signaled for Jongin to let him go and sit down. He cleared his throat, picking a good starting point.

“What do you know about nephilims?”

 

 

☆彡

 

 

“Nephilims are the offspring formed from the union between an angel and a human. A nephilim looks human but can inherit their angel parent’s traits and abilities. These abilities depend on what class their angel parent hailed from before leaving Heaven, but nephilim children won’t know what they’re capable of until the age of twelve.”

Sehun raised his hand from the student’s hurting leg and clapped in amazement. “Very good, Jiyeon! Your History knowledge shows why you always get full marks on exams.”

Genuine happiness decorated Jiyeon’s face. She swung her newly-healed leg back and forth, smile broadening at the lack of pain. “Do you think so, Nurse Oh?” The confidence she exhibited rattling off facts paved way for a tiny amount of shyness.

“Yes, I do. You’ve been at the top of your class since first grade. Nothing’s changed in three years.”

In the same span of time, Jiyeon became one of the more common faces in the clinic, proven by the incredible fragility of her physique compared to her peers. Tripping on her feet easily earned her twisted ankles and broken arms; bumping her shoulders during a game of tag resulted in instant dislocations. Among the students Sehun had healed and consoled, Jiyeon was the bravest in enduring the pain. She never whined or shed a tear, no matter how bright the affected areas on her body shone in the most intense shade of red Sehun had seen. Perhaps sharing random tidbits of what she’d learned from her classes aided in ignoring what ailed her, and Sehun was more than willing every time to indulge Jiyeon’s ramblings.

Sehun declared Jiyeon healed up and ready to go. Jiyeon slipped off from the bed with deliberate caution; turned around to leave but stopped inches away from the open door.

“Nurse Oh, are fallen angels really bad?”

Sehun stilled. "Why do you ask?"

Jiyeon ducked her head, as if ashamed for asking the question. “My textbooks never mentioned reasons. The library books don’t say anything, too. But my grandmother told me an angel should never fall in love with a human. She said it’s why they’re punished and fall from grace. She said it’s why they lose their place in Heaven and can never return.”

Sensing the sadness in her words, Sehun motioned for Jiyeon to approach him. Once near, he lowered himself to his knees and held her hands in his.

“Fallen angels aren’t bad for falling in love with a human. In fact, they’re very brave for choosing love because they sacrificed staying in Heaven to spend their life with the human who holds their heart.”

“‘Sacrificed?’” Jiyeon tested the syllables, like tasting a new type of candy. Her face lit up. “Ms. Na taught us that word yesterday during a spelling lesson. It means giving up one thing for something else.” Sehun nodded. “So fallen angels aren’t bad at all? They’re not wrong in giving up Heaven for love?”

“No. Giving up something for someone you hold dear to you isn’t wrong. Loving someone isn’t wrong. _Love_ isn’t wrong. It never is.”

Confusion lined the angles of Jiyeon’s face. “This is harder than my Math homework.” She scrunched up her face, pulling out a laugh from Sehun, but she seemed comforted by his words just the same.

On her way out, Jiyeon waved goodbye to Youngho, who was casually leaning against the door frame. One look at Youngho’s impish grin told Sehun he’d been watching from the start. He was further proven right when Youngho faked a dramatic sob into his palm, the other hand clutching at his chest in fake hurt.

“Such a sap you are, Nurse Booty. Are you sure you don’t moonlight as a romance novel writer on the side?”

Sehun rolled his eyes and flipped him off, though allowed a single chuckle to escape.

Youngho’s cackles bounced off the clinic walls and trailed after him as they ventured to the courtyard for their lunch break.

In the middle of enjoying his club sandwich and listening to Youngho’s accounts of his students’ genius short stories, Jongin texted him asking what time they should meet later. They’d talked about catching the last show of a movie they’d expressed interest in seeing but couldn’t decide on a date until yesterday. Sehun sent his reply within seconds and added an offer of picking him up.

“I see someone’s snagged a date with Jongin again,” Youngho teased, lips quirking in the same manner.

Sehun frowned. “We’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

“That’s what they all say at first. And then feelings begin sprouting, and then being ‘just friends’ doesn’t suffice anymore.”

“Or, making new friends isn’t a rare phenomenon anywhere, and neither is hanging out a lot with them.” Sehun bit off a huge chunk of his sandwich to obstruct the rest of his snarky retort.

Youngho leaned back in his chair, regarding Sehun with a shrewd smile that made him look sleazy not on purpose. “I’ve seen you stumble your way in and out of crushes. Best friend advantages, et cetera. I think I have a pretty good idea of what it means when your eyes always twinkle a certain way whenever you talk about Jongin, or how your face brightens like a Christmas tree from the mere mention of his name. See—you’re doing it again.”

“Christmas tree? _Seriously?_ You couldn’t have found a more suitable comparison?” Sehun sassed with a snort and an arched brow.

Youngho’s answering laughter was terribly infectious. Tried as he might in resisting, Sehun ended up following suit.

“Seriously, though? Jongin’s a good guy,” Youngho said, on the walk back inside the building right after the bell rang. “Sure, I don’t know him like you do, but it says a lot about his decision to stay friends. You don’t meet a lot of humans like that these days.” A sigh. “What a pity.”

Humans rejected what they couldn’t understand or accept—a grave flaw in their nature, which Sehun had been on the receiving end of in his journey growing up. Unpleasant experiences taught him being different wasn’t always a good thing; that saying so scared off playmates and accused him of lying because he couldn’t show proof. That the peers he trusted turned out far more condemnatory than strangers when he thought saving them a trip to the hospital could change their perspectives about his kind, or called him names and spread rumors behind his back.

Jongin wasn’t the first human in Sehun’s life who knew of his nephilim nature. Jongin wasn’t any different from his other human friends who stuck around after knowing his secret.

Jongin, however, had coaxed him into being truthful without much effort, surprising even himself. Baring secrets he usually would’ve protected to the ends of the earth gushed out like an unstoppable current one question at a time. Sehun could no longer take back his revelations, so he was left to hope trusting Jongin was worth the risk.

Sehun didn’t receive a reply from Jongin but texted him again, anyway, and asked about his back. Jongin had been working overtime recently in preparation for his studio’s annual year-end recital. For several nights in a row, Jongin’s door would open either several minutes before or past midnight, though Sehun had only known of the state of his back during a coincidental meeting in their balconies. Sehun had caught the unmistakable red light across Jongin’s lower back, flaring with a dangerous brightness that set off alarm bells in his mind. Jongin had concealed his pain well, considering he’d been talking like nothing was wrong.

Too bad Sehun had seen right through the grimace Jongin tried passing off as a grin and tossed him a jar of nephilim-made pain relief cream.

Jongin had turned down his offer of healing him, stating he was used to the pain. Sehun hadn’t liked the sound of that but knew better than to fuss in excess.

Sehun sent his third text of the day to Jongin upon leaving the school premises, informing him of buying dinner on the way. The lack of response no longer bothered him. A month into their friendship helped Sehun understand Jongin merely possessed abysmal texting habits and superhuman disregard for mobile phones. Advantageous for work, but definitely not recommended for maintaining a social life, though Jongin seemed content with his small circle of friends who didn’t mind receiving obscenely late replies and lengthy absences from group chats.

With a box of fried chicken in hand, Sehun emerged from the subway station and walked down the first three blocks. The two-story, cool gray building definitely stood out in this part of the neighborhood filled with posh boutiques and themed cafés. The receptionist received him with a polite smile and told him where to find Jongin when he mentioned his name.

Sehun wandered down the second floor corridor and inspected the identical doors. Every room was absent of life except for the one at the very end, light and the muted melody of a song seeping through the crack beneath the door.

Opening it gave him access to a well-lit dance room, clearer sound, and Jongin himself, face a picture of absolute concentration as he danced to the rhythm with a blazing passion that bled through his movements, sharp and smooth and awe-inspiring in a way Sehun never thought possible. He stood rooted and mesmerized watching Jongin glide across the floor with the smoothness of water and swiftness of wind, taming the music and melding it with his body at his command.

Their brief eye contact through the mirror had Jongin’s lips twitching into a minuscule smile but didn’t distract him from completing the routine.

Sehun watched on, unmoving and unmindful of the gradual loss of his chin control. By the end, he was clapping fervently with his mouth hanging open.

Jongin looked flattered by his reaction, cheeks flushed red. He pressed the back of his hand to his temples before grabbing a towel on the bench. “Enjoyed yourself?” he teased, when Sehun neared.

“Every second of it. Wow. You dance so good! It’s— _wow_.”

 _What a terrific time to be inarticulate_ , Sehun scolded himself, but he doubted he could praise Jongin adequately, even with a surplus of words at his disposal.

Jongin dropped to the floor, arms and legs spread wide with the towel slung across his forehead. He fanned himself with both hands. “I’m so tired! This choreo is beating my ass.”

Sehun sat cross-legged beside him. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you moved. You didn’t look like you were struggling."

Jongin laughed, turning his head so he could look at Sehun. “Yeah? Thanks. The choreo is mostly done, but something doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to figure it out. I’ll try again later. I see you bought chicken. Good timing. I’ve been daydreaming of some greasy goodness since lunch.”

“Who said I bought this for you?” Sehun joked, even as he opened the box.

“I want the drumstick first.” Jongin propped himself up on his elbows.

“Who said I’m giving it to you?” Sehun cleaned his hands with wet wipes, too lazy to look for the washroom. He tore off a generous piece from the drumstick and fed Jongin, who chewed with the enthusiasm of a kindergartener rewarded with their favorite food.

He had the table manners of one, too, crumbs caking his mouth and stray morsels tumbling down the front of his shirt. Sehun distracted himself with his own chicken, but the urge to dust off the mess was strong.

Jongin caught him looking then laughed, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I’m a really messy eater.” He picked some tissues from the paper bag and cleaned himself up the best he could but continuously missed the crumbs on the corner of his mouth.

Sehun reached out and wiped them away before his self-restraint returned.

Jongin looked as surprised as Sehun felt at the impulsive action.

Sehun retracted his arm right away and said, maintaining his nonchalance, “You kept missing that one spot. It was bothering me.”

Jongin blinked. If he didn’t believe what Sehun said, then he didn’t show it. He cleaned his hands with a wet wipe and stood, saying he’d grab a quick shower before they leave.

Sehun frowned at the flare of red on Jongin’s lower back. It was brighter than the last time he saw it. “Come here for a second.” He didn’t wait for an answer and gently tugged Jongin down by the wrist. He maneuvered Jongin to sit in front of him, frown deepening at the taunting redness. “Your back doesn’t look too good. How long has this been going on? No, shut up, don’t even try to lie— _I will know_.”

He didn’t mean to put too much force in his words, but Sehun refused not to be taken seriously. He looked into the mirror, locking gazes with Jongin, who, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fight.

“I swear it was okay a few days ago. I’ve been using the cream you gave me,” Jongin added the second sentence in a hurry, sounding somewhat panicked. “It just started hurting a lot more today.”

Sehun sighed, exasperated but not surprised. Jongin had told him in passing of the injuries he’d obtained over the years from dancing, but his back gave him the most problems on and off. Sehun laid a hand flat on his lower back. Jongin tensed at the contact but relaxed just as fast.

One, two, three.

Red light gone.

Jongin whirled around in surprise, feeling up his lower back with two hands, eyes wide and mouth hung open. “You— _you—_ ”

“Yes. _Me._ ” Sehun nodded. “It was a long time coming, and you know it. I should’ve done it sooner. It’s not a permanent fix, but I’ll do it again when needed.”

“You really didn’t have to.” Jongin looked and sounded guilty, continuing to rub his lower back.

“Look, you can’t work on a bad back, and I refuse to let you be reckless and injure it further. You have a recital to prepare for; the last thing you _shouldn’t_ want to happen is spending it in the hospital when you could use those days for rehearsals. If you really feel bad, you can buy me the biggest tub of popcorn at the theater. With a side of nachos. And finish it off with chocolate bubble tea. Chocolate milk is acceptable, too.”

That must’ve killed the last of Jongin’s protests because he ended up laughing and nodding. “You could’ve just said you wanted me to pay for your snacks.”

Sehun only meant it as a joke, so it surprised him when Jongin really did buy everything he mentioned. Almost, anyway—they didn’t serve bubble tea in the theaters, and the shops nearby were closed. Jongin made it up to him by appearing at his doorstep with two big cups the next day.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Jongin asked, batting his eyes with purposeful exaggeration.

Sehun almost choked on a tapioca bubble but covered it up with a hum and a list of his head in feigned contemplation.

Jongin poked Sehun’s waist in his impatience—once, twice, more—and asked like a kid, “C’mon, am I forgiven? Am I? Am I? Am I?"

Sehun squirmed and swatted Jongin’s hand away with a laugh. “Stop! There’s nothing to forgive. I wasn’t angry in the first place. You didn’t have to feel obligated buying the things I said. That was just mindless blabbing on my part.”

“I wanted to,” Jongin insisted. “It’s only fair I do something for you, too.”

“The food is appreciated. The repeated poking isn’t.” Sehun chewed on another tapioca bubble. “I can’t imagine your girlfriend staying angry with you if this is your chosen tactic in placating her.”

Jongin’s expression suddenly tightened.

Sehun only realized what he said a beat too late. Internally, he had already smacked his forehead five times.

“ _Shit_ —okay, forget I said anything. I’m sorry,” Sehun said, sincere in his apology and slightly panicky because of the misery clouding Jongin’s features. “I didn’t mean to make you remember anything unpleasant.”

Heavy, unsettling silence stretched on between them for what seemed like forever. Jongin broke it with a deep sigh and a shake of his head.

“It wasn’t a girlfriend.”

Sehun nodded right away, nervousness abating. “Okay. Not a girlfriend. Got it.”

“I had a girlfriend in high school. It didn’t last long enough for her to know what I’m like when I apologize.”

Sehun nodded again, for lack of a better response.

Jongin smoothed a hand through his hair. Hardly the right time, but Sehun found the gesture extremely suave and attractive.

(Another internal smack to the forehead for the distraction.)

“My ex-boyfriend knew what it was like, though.”

Missing key pieces to Sehun’s mental puzzle started falling in their proper places.

“He must’ve found you adorable every time you acted cute to get back in his good graces.”

“Of course. We wouldn’t have lasted three years if he didn’t.”

Sehun’s mind blanked out for a split second. Three years. The words branded themselves in his mind and echoed loud enough for him to go deaf.

“So that rainy day…”

“Three months after the breakup.” Jongin chuckled, a hollow, brittle sound Sehun disliked. “I thought I was holding up just fine after unleashing my anger and sadness during the first two months and facing it head on. I thought I’d completely purged him from my system, but apparently, a chunk of residual feelings were lurking and waiting for a vulnerable moment to strike.”

No wonder Jongin had looked so heartbroken, so inconsolable under the rain at the time.

“Do you miss him?” Sehun dared ask; voice meek.

“Sometimes,” Jongin admitted. “I can’t do anything but miss him. We broke up because the relationship was heading downhill no matter how hard we tried to make it work. I didn’t want it to come to a point where we detested each other so bad that looking back would be painful. He didn’t want to break up, but it became a mutual decision in the end.”

“Do you regret breaking up?”

Jongin seemed hesitant to answer, but he shook his head. “We agreed it was for the better. It’s hard, but a breakup isn’t the end of the world. I can’t say I’ve fully moved on, but the pain isn’t killing me too badly anymore.”

Though still prominent, the white light on his chest had shrunk some in size. No one could tell how long a healing process took. Sometimes it took months. Others staggered through years. Seldom never. And even then, nephilim such as himself could do nothing but watch. No matter how much Sehun wanted to relieve people from their suffering, emotional recovery was beyond the scope of his ability.

It didn’t mean this stopped him from wanting to help.

Jongin’s laughter disrupted Sehun’s train of thought. It sounded softer, now, and less broken. “Sorry for the sudden unloading. I haven’t talked about the breakup to anyone else aside from family and friends. It feels like an old story that doesn’t sound like mine anymore.”

Sehun shook his head. “If it helps you cope, then by all means. I’m not the greatest in giving advice, but if you’re feeling down about it, I can buy you ice cream and save you front seats in my living room to a list of movies you want to eat your feelings to.”

This time, Jongin’s laughter was loud and unrestrained, delightful and mellifluous.

“Just spending time with you already makes me feel better. Is this what they mean when you have a guardian angel beside you?”

Sehun couldn’t understand the sudden race of his pulse, or the heat infusing his cheeks, or why this game of hide and seek with his vocabulary persisted. What he _did_ understand was that Jongin’s smile shouldn’t be this disarming or powerful, nor should it be creating dents in a place he heavily guarded.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Winter’s presence showed in the extra frosty bite in the air and intermittent snowfall on most nights. It showed in the transition from light cardigans to thick coats, the raise of temperature in heaters, the preferred consumption of hot food and drink by staff and students alike in the cafeteria. It showed in the increased number of children sniffling or coughing when they came to school, sometimes feverish, and more often ending up in the clinic with complaints of hurting heads and clogged noses.

Although possessing the ability to heal, Sehun’s powers were rendered useless against the common cold and flu. He had to sort to medication specially designed for nephilims. Human-manufactured medicine worked in most cases, but some nephilim’s bodies were too sensitive and rejected it, requiring treatment suited for their physiology. He stocked both kinds in the clinic as early as spring; used them sparingly and with caution. He always made sure he administered the right medication.

Sehun shook the bottle of fruit-flavored chewables and fed it to Sanghyuk, a flu-stricken fifth grader. The chewables were meant to lower fever and get rid of decongestion in five minutes but in exchange for extreme sleepiness. Sanghyuk chewed and leaned into his side for support, brows furrowed in obvious discomfort, thin hands grasped tight around Sehun’s wrist. Sehun allowed him, understanding some nephilim children’s need for touch during times of sickness.

Sehun tucked Sanghyuk in and dragged the curtains close so he could rest. Second patient of the day, and fifth student within the week who might need to stay home. He told Sanghyuk’s mother this after explaining his condition over the phone and suggested picking him up right away. He’d barely ended the call when a teacher and student entered, the little girl telling Sehun in a wobbly voice she didn’t feel too good and ended it with a sneeze.

Two weeks later, Sehun woke up lightheaded and sniffling. Groaned at the immediate realization he’d caught the flu from one of the students. His angel parent hailed from the healer class and provided him a stronger immune system, among others, but it didn’t mean absolute invincibility.

Sick as he was, he was also thankful it happened on a weekend, giving him two whole days to spring back to his feet. Thinking of the children who would need him served as inspiration enough.

Sehun forced himself out of bed and managed a few nibbles of bread. It was the only food he could eat right away; anything else required more preparation and effort, and just covering the short distance to the kitchen stripped him of his energy. He had emergency medicine stashed aside, though human made, but it should do for now.

He couldn’t help sighing in relief on returning to bed, welcoming the coolness of the sheets and the softness of the pillows. He pestered Youngho about his plight by bombarding him with messages. His patience wasn’t the best when ill; pairing it with boredom stemming from unwanted immobility shortened his fuse by a marginal length. When Youngho didn’t answer, Sehun made rounds on his contact list to bother his other friends until he couldn’t see straight anymore due to the gradual closing of his eyes.

Sehun didn’t know how long he was knocked out, but it was already dark outside when he roused. He also felt relatively better, despite the lingering heaviness in his limbs. He sniffed once to test if the decongestion had disappeared. The lack of obstruction allowed him to inhale the air of his apartment, the faint traces of fabric conditioner in his sheets, and the comforting scent of chicken soup.

He shot upright, a wave of dizziness hitting him. Holding a hand to his head, he gawked at Jongin’s figure in his kitchen, nursing a pot of chicken soup but looking very troubled while stirring, muttering something under his breath.

“Jongin?”

Jongin startled at the call of his name and nearly dropped the lid. Sehun would’ve laughed if he was feeling better but allowed himself a smile.

“Oh, hey; you’re awake! Wait, you’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

Sehun held up his hands when Jongin made a move to usher him back. “I’m fine. I’m tired of my bed, so let me sit.” He pulled out the chair from the table and sat down, lightly massaging his temples. “How’d you know I was sick?”

Jongin shot him a strange look. “You texted me. If you’re wondering how I got in, you also texted me your passcode.”

That, along with the other incriminating evidence, Sehun found in his message thread with Jongin:

_jongiiin_

_jonginnieee_

_jongin jongin jonginniiieee_

_youngho isn’t replying to my texts some friend he is hmph_

_i’m sick and i’m bored, play with meeeeeeee :(((((_

_i just want someone to cook me soup and keep me company and take care of me :((((_

Several other texts contained whining, whining, and more whining, but Jongin showed patience in answering his messages.

“I am _so_ sorry!” Sehun exclaimed, covering his face with his hands, cheeks growing hot from the sheer embarrassment. He peeked between his fingers, heat in his cheeks intensifying at Jongin’s amused look. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Jongin asked, one brow raised, the amusement in his voice cranked up several volumes.

“You know how!”

“I don’t, honestly. Tell me?”

Sehun’s response was a hybrid sound of a whine and a gurgle.

“Your texts didn’t bother me,” Jongin assured. “They weren’t embarrassing, either. I think they’re cute.”

Sehun’s hands fell to the table and shot him a look of disbelief. “You don’t have to be polite. I was whiny _and_ annoying.”

"It’s a cute kind of whining, not annoying." Jongin turned off the electric stove after one last stir. “And what kind of friend would I be if I just ignored you when you’re sick?”

Sehun didn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like Jongin, but the unexpected sting the label inflicted surprised him. He didn’t dwell on it; passed it off as irrational oversensitivity born from the flu.

The observation was further forgotten after the first sip of chicken soup. He met Jongin’s gaze; sensed the anxiousness. He lifted a brow in silent question.

Jongin placed a hand on his nape in uncharacteristic sheepishness. “My cooking skills aren’t exactly the best, and I had no idea how to cook chicken soup. I looked up a recipe online and followed the instructions. It tasted okay to me, but I’m not sure about you…”

“It’s good,” Sehun said, and he meant this. He could overlook the detail of the chicken being overdone, or the weird aftertaste of ginseng he was sure shouldn’t be there, but they were minor technicalities that didn’t hamper his enjoyment of the soup or think less of Jongin’s efforts. The soup revived his dormant appetite and rejuvenated his fatigued body. By the end of the meal, he felt strong enough to peel apples while Jongin washed the dishes.

Jongin took the knife and unpeeled apple half without a word. Sehun put up a short fight before yielding. They sat in comfortable silence as Sehun watched Jongin slice apples and shaped them into a family of rabbits on a plate.

“You have nice hands.”

Jongin glanced up and smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re nice to look at. Maybe even hold. I bet they’d be really nice to hold. They look strong and firm.”

Jongin’s gaze lingered on him a beat longer than usual.

Sehun blamed the flu medicine for his unpredicted boldness and loss of filter.

Jongin’s soft laughter diffused the weird moment and fed him an apple slice. Sehun happily munched on it for three seconds before Jongin reached for his hand across the table.

“Your hand’s pretty nice to hold, too." Jongin turned over Sehun’s hand so the palm was facing up. “Do you want me to predict your future?”

“What; are you a part-time palmist now?” Sehun teased, though made no move to close his palm. It felt nice; the soothing way Jongin traced the lines on his palm, touch feather-light and caused butterflies to flutter in his belly.

Jongin traced senseless patterns on the flesh, and then he was etching distinct curves and lines. Sehun couldn’t decipher them at first, until he recognized the syllables and put them together to form—

“Why are you writing your name?” Sehun asked, puzzled. “This isn’t how palmistry works.”

Jongin hushed him, a mischievous expression on his face. “I told you I’d predict your future, didn’t I? This is a special kind of palmistry. See, your palm says someone named Kim Jongin will stay with you from here on out whether you like it or not.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sehun deadpanned, poker face crumbling as his shoulders shook in uncontrolled laughter.

Jongin laughed, too, but didn’t release his hand. “Okay, so I’m not a palmist, but I definitely wasn’t lying about what I predicted.”

“Cheesy.”

Jongin winked. “Just telling the truth.”

Sehun playfully rolled his eyes, fending off the grin threatening to split his face in half because he liked this so much beyond comprehension; liked this so much warmth bloomed in his chest and circled round and round and round.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

“Here’s what I think: you could give Jongin a flowering cactus, and he’d still think it’s the greatest present you’ve given him.”

“You’re not helping.” Sehun flitted from one gorgeous flower display to another, examining each arrangement and further confusing him on what he should pick.

“I don’t get why you’re fussing so much over this. You’re watching a recital he produced, not surprising him with a proposal.” Youngho stepped away from Sehun’s hand aimed at his shoulder. “Just pick the prettiest from the bunch and let’s go.”

“I can’t just give him something I picked on a whim without any real meaning," Sehun griped, frowning. “Jongin deserves better than a halfhearted bouquet.” He approached the florist stationed at the counter and requested for their assistance.

Judging from the way they smiled, the florist had probably tuned in on their conversation.

Ten minutes later, the florist was arranging Sehun’s chosen flowers into a bouquet: a vibrant combination of orange spray roses, white daisies, and yellow button chrysanthemums. The florist dressed them in wrapping paper three shades paler than the roses and finished it off with a bow.

“You must adore this person very much to spend a lot of time deciding on what flowers to buy them,” the florist commented, after handing over the bouquet.

Sehun shook his head immediately. “No, I—you’re mistaken.”

The florist clucked their tongue and wagged a finger in mild reproach. “I’ve seen so many people come into my shop sporting the same love-struck look like yours in the past twenty-five years I’ve been doing business. I would know. If that person doesn’t know yet, what are you waiting for? Good luck, young man.”

The concert hall was near full on their arrival. Sehun set the bouquet on his lap with careful hands, mindful of not adding creases to the paper or crush the flowers. He had half a mind to search for Jongin backstage, but he most likely couldn’t entertain them at the moment. Sehun sent him a message of encouragement, anyway, though he might not see it until after the recital.

He couldn’t believe his eyes when he received a reply within half a minute.

 **From: Jongin**  
_thanks! i really needed to hear that :)_

Jongin? Replying promptly to a message? Sehun blinked at his phone in fascination.

 **To: Jongin**  
_just relax okay_  
_the least embarrassing thing the kids can do is forget the steps_  
_but they’re kids and kids are cute regardless to adults_  
_especially the parents, they can be pretty biased_

 **From: Jongin**  
_hahaha_  
_you’re right_  
_i’m not dancing tonight but i’m still nervous for them_  
_i hope it doesn’t disappoint_

And disappoint it did not. Not to Sehun, not to Youngho, and most especially not to the hundred other parents in the audience who rose to their feet in standing ovation at the end of the performance. The children beamed with pride and joy as they held hands and bowed together in near perfect unison.

Sehun might have clapped a little harder at Jongin’s entrance. He might have also ignored Youngho’s playful waggle of eyebrows and matching jabs to his side.

Sehun and Youngho searched for Jongin backstage after the show. They found him but had to wait for their turn, given Jongin’s popularity among the parents who showered him with praise and gratitude for granting their children’s wishes of performing. The children who performed swarmed him, as well, asking to take pictures together and expressing their enjoyment in dancing on stage.

Jongin approached them after bidding goodbye to the last family. “Thank you for coming.”

“The performance was spectacular! I didn’t know it was possible to combine fairy tales and dances, but what you did was impressive,” Sehun gushed as he handed Jongin the bouquet.

Jongin’s eyes lit up with pleasant surprise and cradled the bouquet to his chest. He leaned in and took a deep inhale of the flowers; stroked the rose petals with the back of his fingers. “I’m proud of the kids; they really did their best tonight. Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful and smell good.”

Sehun shouldn’t be this ridiculously happy over a simple reaction. “I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

“You didn’t have to, but I do love flowers.” Jongin continued smiling at Sehun before shifting his attention to Youngho. “How did you find the show, Youngho- _ssi_?”

“It was a truly enjoyable show. I was mesmerized from beginning to end. I’m glad Sehun invited me, or I would’ve missed out on fantastic performances.”

“You weren’t my first choice for the other ticket—”

Sehun never finished his sentence, laughter seizing him at Youngho’s indignant protest.

Light banter and pleasant conversation accompanied them through their late dinner at a nearby pizza place. Despite having only interacted briefly during the bake sale, Youngho and Jongin hit it off well. Jongin was reserved in his reactions at first, but when Youngho mentioned _Dragon Ball_ regarding his choice of entertaining shows, he became animated in a way Sehun had never seen before. He might not know who this Vegeta character was, or why Goku could ride a yellow cloud, but he enjoyed listening to Jongin talk about them, anyway.

They parted ways with full bellies and a newly-established friendship between Youngho and Jongin. Sehun was happy they clicked, even at his expense (no) thanks to the embarrassing stories Youngho shared. He and Jongin joined the hundreds of others ambling down the late-night streets on the walk to the subway, enjoying the nighttime scenery comprised of bright, varicolored, artificial lights and the spirit of Christmas in the air. Buildings were decorated with extravagant rooftop displays, songs fit for the season playing from the inside. Fairy lights were draped on trees and strung around wire frame sculptures of reindeers and snowmen on the streets where people could take pictures.

They encountered a group of young teens dressed in Santa Claus outfits and serenading their audience with Christmas carols. A modest crowd surrounded them, some recording the performance with their phones. Halfway through _Silent Night_ , Jongin drifted away from Sehun’s side. Sehun didn’t follow but kept an eye on him.

Jongin’s attention was robbed by a Labrador retriever sitting at its owner’s feet, head tilted to the side and cuteness irresistible. The owner was an old man with graying hair and huge wrinkles on his face occupying the backless bench, one hand loosely curled around the leash handle. Jongin talked to the old man then squatted down in front of the dog, body slightly turned to the side. The dog sniffed at him in curious interest and padded forward, its tail wagging from side to side in a slow sweeping motion.

Jongin smiled in victory when the dog granted him petting privileges. The dog sniffed at the bouquet in Jongin’s hand, so he held it away at a safe distance. He laughed when the dog’s nose followed the bouquet, determined in its purpose.

Sehun would’ve been content watching from where he stood, but the worrying circle of red on the old man’s right knee and his continuous massaging had him approaching in concern.

“Does your knee hurt?” Sehun’s polite inquiry startled the old man.

“I’m fine, m’boy,” the old man answered with a jolly laugh, waving his hand. “It’s the darn old arthritis attacking. Just need to sit and wait it out.”

“I can massage it for you,” Sehun offered.

“Please let him,” Jongin spoke from the side, cursory glance thrown Sehun’s way implying he knew of his intention. “He’s great with massages.”

The old man looked skeptical but relented. Sehun rubbed the knee gently, applying the right amount of pressure under the guise of giving a massage when he only needed three seconds of contact.

“Good heavens,” the old man gasped in astonishment when Sehun finished. He poked at his right knee; stood up and stomped his foot. “M’boy, I don’t know what you did, but you sure got rid of the pain!”

Jongin showed reluctance in parting with the dog (whose name was Precious), but he waved goodbye after sneaking in one last hug. “I’d have loved a dog like Precious,” he said with a sigh, watching owner and pet walk away.

“You must really like dogs,” Sehun remarked.

“I have three dogs at my parents’ house. I haven’t visited my babies in a while. I feel bad.” Jongin pouted.

“You couldn’t raise them in your old place?”

“My ex was allergic. We couldn’t risk it.”

Sehun was caught off-guard at the casual revelation. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

“My ex loves animals a lot. It saddened him we couldn’t have pets of our own.”

Jongin’s words carried neither spite nor resentment, though his eyes reflected the nostalgia of a chapter long closed. The white light on his chest shone with renewed brilliance, albeit smaller than a fist in size now but still impossible to ignore.

A vague sense of guilt stirred in Sehun’s chest as he wondered, for a fleeting moment, if he was at fault for making him remember.

A puff of icy air caressed the skin of Sehun’s neck. He pulled his jacket collar up and shoved his hands into the pockets. “Mr. Kang allows pets in the building, as long as you’re a responsible owner.”

Jongin shook his head with a tiny smile. “I’m not in a hurry to adopt, but I’ll think about it.”

They passed by a bakery close to the subway. Sehun scanned the selection of cakes on display, remembering he should follow up on the order he’d placed last week from his mother’s favorite shop.

“Are you buying a cake?”

Sehun tore his gaze away. “I’m picking up a cake next week. You know, can’t celebrate Christmas without cake.”

“Celebrating with anyone?”

Jongin’s sudden interest in his holiday plans confused Sehun. “Family. My parents each have their own company parties to attend in the evening, so I’m spending it with them in the morning. Why? Do you want to celebrate Christmas together?”

The meaning of his question only sunk in after it left his mouth.

Christmas in this country was recognized more as a day for couples—the unofficial winter counterpart of Valentines and White Day. He and Jongin might’ve grown close in the past months, but they were the furthest from being a couple.

“If you’d like," came Jongin’s unexpected answer, catching him off-guard for the second time tonight. “I’m free in the evening of the twenty-fifth. Are we on?”

“Okay.”

Sehun reeled from the shock of having simply acquiesced. He should be mildly alarmed how easy Jongin compelled him into agreeing about anything, but it brought forth another astounding epiphany that Sehun _never_ shied away or showed unwillingness to whatever he offered.

“Great!” Jongin sounded positively thrilled. “I’m not picky with cakes, but I like mine with strawberries.”

Jongin babbled on about the greatness of strawberries and why it was his favorite fruit. His smile was soft around the edges, and the surrounding lights illuminated his handsome face. He paid great attention to how he carried the bouquet and went as far as apologizing to the flowers after accidentally plucking petals in his admiration of their beauty.

Sehun never thought silliness could suit someone so well until Jongin.

Sehun never thought he’d be so endeared.

Sehun never thought the day would come when his heart would brim with so much affection his rib cage felt ten sizes too small—and all for one person he thought he’d be content staying friends with but obviously not anymore. Maybe this was the same realization many people out there stumbled upon that incited fear of their own hearts and, in turn, buried it deep down where no one could reach because the other person might not reciprocate.

Love was never wrong, but it also didn’t care if you were unprepared for its arrival.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Graduations were always an emotional time for Sehun. The absence of sanguine affinity didn’t stop him from acting like a proud parent each time a student climbed up the stage to receive their awards and diplomas, cheeks hurting from the excessive smiling if any of them looked his way and waved. Six years was more than enough time to get attached and form bonds. It wasn’t one-sided, either, proven by the fresh graduates who sought him out for pictures and hugged him tight for the years he’d wiped away the tears caused by their ailments and nursed them back to health. Some smothered him with cards and letters full of sentiment.

“Such a good day today,” Youngho commented, stretching his arms above his head. He breathed in a lungful of the crisp morning air and exhaled a sigh of contentment as they exited the hall. The school grounds were now void of noise and celebration after the graduates and their families dispersed. “I’ll miss my little angels. One of my best poets gifted me an original composition of theirs; I was so surprised! It was a moving piece about—Sehun, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Sehun looked up from his phone.

Youngho peeked at the screen. Squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. “That time of the year again, huh?”

Sehun blew out a resigned breath and stared some more at the open weather app reporting the seven-day weather forecast.

A gradual burst of pink invaded Seoul and melted the silvery white landscape, heralding spring’s arrival and a new school year. Little to no rainfall blessed the city in the following days, weeks, in the same span of time Sehun acquainted himself with new faces. Though he held no control over the weather and its whims, Sehun prayed he’d come out of spring unscathed. Surviving one season was already a feat in itself, but he never lost hope.

On the last night of April, Sehun’s eyes cracked open when he heard the first clap of thunder and swallowed nervously at the pinpricks of pain racing along his shoulder blades.

Lightning and thunder didn’t scare him; neither did rain. Thunderstorms, however, were a different beast altogether—the harder it poured, the longer his suffering lasted. And tonight, he was reminded once again of this nightmarish occurrence as he rolled onto his stomach to muffle a scream into the pillow, red-hot pain ruthless and unrelenting in its assault.

The thunderstorm lasted through the night. So did his thrashing and pleading for mercy, and the fragmented images of a distressing memory made twice more vivid by the roar of thunder and harsh downpour.

“You should’ve called. I’d have taken you to the hospital,” Youngho said, applying an apricot-scented cream on Sehun’s back the second he showed up in the clinic.

Sehun sighed into the crook of his arm at the spreading relief. The cream was one of the many pain relief alternatives he used in case he ran out of his prescribed ointment, though it required reapplication every four hours. Not his most ideal scenario, but he’d take it over pretending he was fine. A grumpy nurse was an unproductive one and scared children away.

He sat upright after Youngho was done and shrugged on his shirt. “I couldn’t think straight when the thunderstorm started. My phone was the last thing on my mind. I’ve already booked an appointment with the doctor, so don’t fret.”

Half past five saw Sehun sitting outside a clinic waiting for his turn. He passed the time observing the patients beside him and those who walked past then disappeared into different corridors. Most were children below ten accompanied by their parents, but he’d also seen adults emerge from the clinics. He caught flickers of red on various body parts from passing patients, and the rare white light on three or four souls in varied intensity.

A four year-old broke away from his mother’s hold and hurt his jaw and elbow when he tripped. Sehun helped the shrieking toddler and calmed him down with a single touch. The toddler’s cries dwindled to hiccups in his mother’s embrace, and she couldn’t thank Sehun enough, all the while gushing, “It’s my first time meeting a nephilim from the healer class!”

She didn’t bother lowering her voice, and Sehun saw no reason to panic. No one around them deemed their conversation bizarre—not in this hospital wing where doctors and nurses of nephilim heritage were assigned.

The doctor lifted his head upon Sehun’s entry. He looked younger than Sehun remembered—whether from good genes or a strict skin care regimen, he wasn’t sure. He was tiny in stature compared to him but possessed an air of authority and confidence. His smile resembled a politician’s printed on campaign posters, sans fakeness and stiffness.

“Long time no see, Dr. Kim,” Sehun greeted, occupying the seat and grinning.

Dr. Kim’s snort morphed into a laugh. “Whatever happened to calling me _hyung_?”

Sehun laughed, now, too. “I can’t call you ‘Junmyeon-hyung’ in a professional setting, can I?”

Though acquaintances at best, they used to play together as children whenever Sehun visited for his check-ups. Sehun’s pediatrician at the time was Dr. Kim’s grandfather, a charming elderly man who always rewarded his patience in sitting still through his examinations with bunny-shaped lollipops. If Sehun was a long way away from his turn, Dr. Kim’s presence cured his restlessness by playing video games together on his portable console.

Dr. Kim slung the stethoscope around his neck after the examination and resumed his seat. “Everything looks normal, so far, but you look real tired. It doesn’t look stress-induced. Are your shoulder blades giving you trouble again?”

Sehun nodded. “The thunderstorm last night exhausted me.”

Dr. Kim scribbled on his pad with a contemplative hum. “Thunderstorms run aplenty throughout spring and summer, so I’ll allow purchase for two jars at a time. That should have you covered until autumn, yes?”

Sehun stood up to leave but not without thanking Dr. Kim. “Please send my regards to your grandfather."

Dr. Kim nodded and sat back in his chair. “He mentions you from time to time. He’s happy something has finally been created for you and the others in a similar plight. I’ll tell him about your visit today.”

Sehun reached the hospital entryway but a call of his name stopped him in his tracks.

Jongin was sprinting up to him, surprised but smiling.

“I visited a colleague who gave birth,” Jongin told him when prompted about his presence. “Her baby’s so cute! You should’ve seen how tiny he is—I was so scared of holding him because what if I dropped him? Ah, enough about me; what brings you here?” His face flashed with worry. “Are you sick again? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sehun explained why. Then: “Now I’m off to the pharmacy.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jongin said. “I want to see what a nephilim-run pharmacy is like.”

It didn’t look any different from a regular pharmacy, Sehun thought, as they stopped in front of a modest establishment flanked by a barber shop and a secondhand bookstore. Above the door hung a wooden sign with its name painted in blue and intricate wings carved on either side. A bell chimed overhead when Sehun pushed open the door, revealing a pale blue interior and shelves upon shelves stocked with every medicine imaginable behind the counter. Majority was nephilim produced—Sehun recognized most of them—but they also sold the other kind in case an unsuspecting human wandered inside.

“Just a minute!” a voice chirped from the storage room to the far right, its owner hurrying out in a second. The white coat gave away his pharmacist status, an easy smile on his face as he approached. His eyes flashed with recognition when they landed on Sehun and hooted. “Long time no see!”

“Hi, Baekhyun-hyung.” Sehun waved in lazy greeting and slid the prescription toward him. “I came here for the usual.”

“The usual, huh?” Baekhyun scanned the paper’s contents. He finally noticed Jongin, smile growing while eyeing him with unveiled interest. “And who might this gorgeous face be?”

Introductions were held, and Sehun added right away before Baekhyun could open his mouth, “He’s human.”

“I know. His aura isn’t iridescent. Nice shade of beige, though.”

At Jongin’s questioning glance, Sehun supplied, “Nephilims hailing from the warrior class can see and read auras. It’s one of their many abilities. Usually, they enter the police force or get any law-related jobs, but Baekhyun-hyung is weird and chose Pharmacy.”

“Excuse me for having dreams and aspirations unrelated to my heritage,” Baekhyun retorted in fake offense before laughing. “Let me grab the ointment real quick. You’re in luck; we just restocked.” He hadn’t taken two steps before saying over his shoulder, “Beige is the color for a neutral state of being, by the way!”

Jongin looked at Sehun. “Does he mean I’m feeling okay, or…?”

Sehun pulled up recollections of past conversations with Baekhyun on the topic. “Yeah, he does.”

Baekhyun returned in a minute carrying two large jars and packed them in a tote paper bag. Sehun paid for his purchase and carefully lifted the bag off the counter.

“Thanks, hyung. Let’s go out for a meal together sometime.”

“Can’t we go on a sauna date, instead?”

Sehun didn’t miss the teasing in Baekhyun’s voice and deigned him with a playful scoff. “That’s asking for another permanent ban.”

“We’ll be more careful this time!” Baekhyun rounded the counter and attached himself to Sehun’s side, arms around his waist and a chin hooked on his shoulder. “The manager and staff won’t even know what we’ve done until we leave!”

Sehun barked out a laugh at the dramatic reasoning, tone and all. He patted Baekhyun’s head like he would a puppy. “We have to go, hyung. I’ll text you.”

They left the pharmacy but not without Baekhyun slapping his ass in goodbye (and copping a feel for good measure). Sehun just shook his head and continued chuckling to himself.

He felt his phone vibrate from a new message three feet down the sidewalk.

 **From: Baekhyun-hyung**  
_green isn’t a good look on jongin, just saying ;)_

Sehun frowned. He couldn’t remember what a green aura signified, although he did pick up on Jongin’s unusual silence the farther they walked away. He was used to the lack of conversation, but time spent together enabled him to identify Jongin’s types of silences. This one spoke of concealed curiosity but also invited questions.

“You can tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Do you have history with Baekhyun-ssi?”

Jongin’s straightforwardness took Sehun aback but took it in stride. “We moved in the same social circles in college, but we didn’t meet until my second semester as a freshman. We stayed friends since.” He combed through the events from the past ten minutes and added, “If you’re wondering about the sauna thing, Baekhyun-hyung went a bit overboard with his pranks in the bathing areas and damaged public property. He has some brute strength in him, believe it or not. We chipped in to pay for the repair fees, but our ban wasn’t lifted. Now it’s a running joke among us.”

Jongin accepted the information with a hum and a gradual nod of the head. The gesture looked mechanical, his face unreadable for a reason Sehun couldn’t grasp.

“He’s quite touchy with you.”

“A biter, too.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Not like _that_!” Sehun exclaimed, horrified, cheeks heating up when he caught the unintended double meaning. “Baekhyun-hyung has a penchant for biting me. He’s like a perpetually-teething wolf cub. It’s just the way he is. If you mean _that_ , I wouldn’t know, and I have no interest in finding out.”

A well-timed shudder proved his point, rooting from the mere thought of imagining himself engaging in debauched acts with said person.

“So nothing’s going on between you?”

“He’s a good person, and I might have saved his ass a few times in the club from pushy flirts, but we are the most incompatible people on Earth. We’re nothing more than friends.”

Jongin nodded once more, expression lightening considerably it had him cracking a smile bordering on gleeful.

“I see.”

Sehun tucked this weird conversation at the back of his mind for later perusal. He wanted to know what exactly Jongin found pleasing with his answer, or why Baekhyun and their relationship piqued his interest so.

He never followed through with his plans when a thunderstorm brewed later that night and submerged him six feet deep in a sea of torture.

Sehun held on tight to his thinning consciousness in his struggle to sit up and reach for the ointment jar on the nightstand. He twisted off the lid with trembling hands and scooped a generous amount. He smeared it on the washable pad of the back applicator he bought just for this and rubbed it straight away on his shoulder blades, around, under. The odd combination of lavender and mint assaulted his nose, numbing the pain in the process until no traces of it lingered.

Sehun collapsed face first into his pillows, breathing easier now that his body had broken free from the tension. He slept dreamless but peaceful, no longer frightened of thunderstorms and the torment attached to it.

He coasted through the remainder of spring happy and pain-free. By his second ointment purchase, cloudless skies reigned and served as a backdrop to the bottle green sheen of trees. Thunderstorms became a daily occurrence, more unbiased of its arrival during the summer, and dispelled the humid air with much-needed coolness. With his major worry solved, Sehun’s troubles now reverted to the trivial kind: paying rent and filing taxes, forgotten laundry hanging outside his balcony, Youngho’s surprise announcement.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” Sehun asked, looking up from an important e-mail he was drafting, unsure if he heard right.

“What I said. I can’t go.” Youngho’s tight-lipped smile of apology didn’t lack in sincerity. “My mom arrived yesterday on a surprise visit. I knew she was planning something when she kept asking me about Seoul’s weather. I should’ve known.” He sounded annoyed, but the affection was stronger. “She’s staying until the last day of the event. I’m really sorry.”

Sehun’s disappointment melted into immediate understanding. He also scolded himself for being insensitive. He might’ve been independent for years, but home was never too far away. He had the luxury of visiting his parents anytime. Youngho, on the other hand, flew thousands of miles away when he accepted his job and settled for video calls when the longing became unbearable.

“It’s too bad you can’t go, but it can’t be helped. There’s always next year,” Sehun assured. “Spend time with your mom. Show her around. She doesn’t fly to Seoul often. I’m sure you miss her, too.”

“Thanks, man.” Gratitude flooded Youngho’s voice. “But you can’t let my ticket go to waste. Remember how ticketing was a pain? Yeah; take someone else with you.”

It didn’t sound like a suggestion. Youngho’s all-too-innocent smile hinted as much.

“Magic festival?” Jongin asked, later that day, midway through a Kyochon dinner.

“It’s a huge international event in the magic community held annually in Busan. Youngho and I made plans together a year early, but he can’t make it now with his mom’s sudden visit. Would you like to go?”

“I’ve never heard of this before.” Jongin chewed on his chicken, contemplative. Orange sauce stained the corners of his mouth, increasing in size with every bite.

Sehun grabbed a napkin and gingerly dabbed at the sauce. Jongin startled but didn’t shy away from the contact.

“If you like magic, it’s a must.” Then, Sehun hurriedly added, “No pressure intended, of course! You don’t have to go if you’d rather do something else.”

"I want to go.”

“No, really, it’s fine if— _what_?”

“I want to go,” Jongin repeated, slowly, matching the speed of his smile. “I love magic. I’m not needed anywhere important on those dates. Let’s enjoy those three days together.”

“Awesome,” was Sehun’s eloquent reply, disbelieving how well things played out and lightheaded from profuse excitement.

Days passed in a flash and soon they were settled in their seats in the KTX train. Jongin called dibs on the window seat, catching glimpses of the changing sceneries peeping behind major infrastructures. He pointed at random things of interest: bored herbivores grazing, cars appearing smaller running up and down highways, the shapes of the clouds and what they reminded him of.

They played games when Jongin grew bored of the endless stretches of rice fields. Sehun learned Jongin didn’t take too well to losing and often devised ploys to cheat his way out of punishments. Sehun played along and bought his alibis; but after Jongin’s fifth consecutive escape from punishments, he didn’t care for listening anymore and added extra strength when slapping wrists or flicking his forehead. Jongin’s griping rivaled his whiniest students’, but Sehun kept the observation to himself and swallowed a smile as he soothed his apparently sore forehead with gentle rubs of his thumb.

Lunch was a quiet affair, its aftermath luring Sehun into a nap. He considered himself a light sleeper, so no surprise he woke up when a baby shrieked from three rows down. His watch told him he’d been out for twenty minutes.

Probably a good thing, too, since his head had somehow found comfortable residence on a sleeping Jongin’s shoulder, which he had _no_ recollection of doing before he dozed off.

Sehun straightened and moved away so fast like he’d been scalded, face flaming and heartbeat accelerated to a million miles per second.

Jongin didn’t even stir, head turned away from view, shallow breathing the only indicator of his present state.

The baby shrieked a decibel higher than the last.

Jongin jolted awake, eyes open but on the verge of drooping once more. Sehun was reminded of a sleepy, disoriented puppy he wanted to cuddle. Very much.

(Dangerous.)

“Are we there yet?” Jongin’s voice was thick with sleep. When Sehun shook his head, his eyes glued shut again and didn’t bother covering his yawn. “More time to sleep.”

“If you want, you can—”

Jongin was already one step ahead by placing a hand behind Sehun’s head and lightly pushing down until it reunited with his left shoulder. Sehun let out an involuntary hitch of breath when their heads pressed close and Jongin’s hand dropped to his bicep, touch light but searing all at once.

“Sleep,” Jongin mumbled more than ordered, body relaxing once again and breathing evening out.

The contact flushed away whatever sleepiness was left behind in Sehun’s system and shot his alertness to overdrive. The armrest was digging into his side, but the discomfort was canceled out by Jongin’s solid, sturdy presence twining with the scents of spicy aftershave and laundry detergent and calmed his panicking.

Sehun licked his lips and ignored the temptation to lift the armrest and inch closer. _Much_ closer.

(So dangerous.)

Busan greeted them with its offensive heat and the pulse of life in every corner. No surprise in the increase of visitors; Busan beaches were always hotspots for summer getaways. Sehun could only thank Youngho for having the foresight of booking a hostel reservation months in advance to avoid peak season competition. They counted their subway stops and took a five-minute bus ride from the station. Sehun couldn’t wait to unpack and unwind.

What Youngho failed to tell him was the double bed waiting for them.

Sehun snapped a picture and sent it to Youngho, captioning it with an abundance of question marks and nothing more. He wasn’t too fussed about personal space with longtime friends. He’d shared beds with them in turns during excursions. Clothes became communal property, and showers were taken by twos or threes when rushing. However, he wasn’t rooming with Youngho or any longtime friend right now, and in spite of almost a year of friendship, it didn’t clue him in about Jongin’s boundaries.

“That looks like a comfy bed,” Jongin commented, depositing his bag beside the dresser. “I like comfy beds.”

Sehun’s eyebrow twitched at Youngho’s answer:

 _…o_  
_yeah. that._  
_ㅋㅋㅋ_  
_enjoy?_  
_ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ_

Sehun fired a barrage of angry, fire-breathing Tube stickers. He needed a new best friend, stat.

“Sorry, I didn’t know Youngho would get a room with a double bed,” Sehun told Jongin, who came from inspecting the bathroom. “Let me go to the front desk real quick and ask if we can switch the bed for twin ones—”

“What’s wrong with sleeping in the same bed?”

 _Everything!_ Sehun’s mind screamed, panicky and in a pitch higher than humanly possible, belying his outward image of calmness exemplified.

“Sharing beds can be kind of a big deal for some.”

“I’m not against it if it’s with someone I trust.”

_Trust._

The word resounded in Sehun’s head like a tape on loop. Jongin said it in the most casual tone, but the weight of his sincerity was deeply felt and quashed the last of Sehun’s doubts.

Sehun pressed his lips together to control the grin fighting its way out. “No take backs if I accidentally kick you in your sleep.”

Jongin smirked. “That’s fine. I’ll turn up the AC and hog the blankets, and we’ll call it even.”

Haeundae Beach was a short walk away from the hostel, so they used their free hours enjoying the water and simultaneously sculpted tails for each other to complete the sand mermaid transformation. A couple of locals talked them into joining a friendly game of volleyball to complete their team. For someone prone to tripping on flat surfaces when not dancing, Jongin dove around the sandy court without any problems, serving mean spikes and risky saves. Sehun wasn’t a bad setter himself, having played some volleyball in high school, but catching the flex of Jongin’s muscles when striking the ball and skin glistening with sweat while swapping high fives with teammates proved a major test of concentration.

Said concentration faced another adversary during the night gala.

Six magicians, both from the local and international magic scene, delighted the audience with breathtaking performances and left them in awe one after the other. Sehun thought it fascinating how grown men such as them easily transformed into hyper children in the face of cool magic tricks. Jongin provided throwaway comments as he watched, words coming out in whispered excitement while clutching and squeezing Sehun’s arm in surprise or slapped his shoulder if the trick was funny enough to warrant laughter.

Sehun heard the comments without problem, but none of the words registered—not with the way Jongin always pressed the lean length of his body to his side so he could whisper, stressing the evident lack of armrests and elevating his heart rate to dangerous levels whenever he pressed _just_ a little closer than the last.

And then Jongin fell into his lap from laughing too hard at a funny skit, and Sehun’s poor synapses short-circuited.

Repeat episodes happened through the show, too.

Sehun stared at Jongin’s head when he doubled over laughing and landed in his lap for the umpteenth time tonight. Why did Jongin need to do this? Was his back aching again? Slip of waist control? Did he think he was a puppy with the weight of one who thought his lap was a second bed? Why did he even like this too much?

Way _too much,_ Sehun’s mind rectified, when the show was over and Jongin pulled himself upright and away. Sehun whined from the loss of contact. Cringed inwardly at his reaction.

Jongin blinked at him then smiled. “That didn’t feel like ninety minutes at all. Wish it was longer, too.”

Sehun didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When Sehun finished showering back at the hostel, Jongin was already settled on his side of the bed in a white shirt and loose black shorts. The shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, showing off the efforts of his labor in hitting the gym. His legs were stretched out before him, hem of his shorts stopping just above the knees. His dry hair looked soft to the touch and shiny under the lights. How someone could look so good in the plainest of sleepwear was a mystery, but Sehun appreciated the view under the pretense of drying his hair. Towels were a blessing to those who lacked discretion in their admiration.

Jongin laughed at something he was watching on his phone. Probably a Japanese gag show, judging from the language and raucous laughter. He noticed Sehun’s presence and smiled. “Ready for bed? Dry your hair thoroughly or you’ll catch a cold.”

Lights out and space occupied, Sehun’s stomach tangled in knots as he lay on his side near the end of the bed on purpose. His heart beat so loud in the darkness of the room he couldn’t hear anything else. The slightest movement from Jongin’s side had him seizing up in silent panic. Sehun closed his eyes and uttered a prayer for sleep to come right now.

The growl of thunder snapped Sehun awake much later into the night. He reached full wakefulness by the time rain pelted outside. A telltale heat formed on his back, and Sehun let out an involuntary whimper at the first throb of pain.

It amplified a hundredfold in a blink, like hot iron rods were carving lines infinitely into the skin along his shoulder blades. Habit had him reaching out for the ointment jar on the nightstand but in vain. Sehun cursed at his forgetfulness; at the weather report that lied about no thunderstorms in Busan during their trip. He hauled himself out of bed with concerted effort, though he hadn’t taken three steps before pain seized him anew and his knees buckled.

“Sehun?” Jongin’s sleepy voice cut through the haze of pain fogging his mind.

Sehun drew a sharp intake of breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

Jongin must’ve sensed his distress because he sat up and turned on the lamp, instead. “What’s wrong?” He crawled over to Sehun and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Lightning flashed. Thunder crackled. Sehun vaguely heard Jongin’s call of his name, or the scream that tore from his throat caused by the horrific pain bursting through him in torrential waves and sucking the breath from his lungs.

Minutes stretched on like a torturous eternity. By the time Sehun regained his lost sensibilities, he was back on the bed blinking at the ceiling, throat hoarse, body drenched in sweat. The pain, though dulled, thrummed in reminder of its presence—lurking, waiting. Jongin’s concerned face swam into his vision, who breathed out a sigh of relief when their eyes met.

“You passed out screaming,” Jongin told him, not waiting to be prompted. “I told the owner you were having a nightmare when they knocked on the door. You were writhing on the floor like something was hurting you and begging for it to stop. It was honestly scary.” Gentle fingers pushed back the hair from Sehun’s forehead; rested a palm on it. “You’re not running a fever. What’s wrong?”

Gathering enough breath and energy, Sehun requested Jongin to take the ointment from his bag. Jongin said nothing but complied and returned with the jar. Sehun slowly rose and turned around so he was sitting with his back facing Jongin. With clumsy hands, he shucked off his shirt.

Pretended he didn’t hear Jongin’s shocked gasp.

Sehun tossed Jongin a look over his shoulder. “My shoulder blades have been hurting since the thunderstorm started. I normally use an applicator, but… Anyway, would it be asking too much for help?” He despised the weakness in his voice, but he was far too tired to care at this point.

Five seconds, then Sehun heard the opening of the jar; felt the soft press of Jongin’s fingers applying the ointment on the areas he described, covering a new patch of skin in each application. The pain subsided, bit by bit, and Sehun could now breathe easier, think clearer. He threw on his shirt again and faced Jongin.

“Thank you.”

Jongin returned the jar to him but said nothing. The silence hung heavy with unasked questions.

“I’m not stalling, but we’re better off discussing this in the morning when we’re not tired,” Sehun said, hoping he read Jongin’s questioning gaze right.

Jongin’s face softened. It was as good as an agreement.

“Are you sure you’re fine? No need to go the E.R.?”

Sehun nodded, marking the end of their conversation.

A morning stroll on Haeundae’s boardwalk triggered the reopening of the topic. One knowing look from Jongin and a well-placed poke to his side, and Sehun said the first thing on his mind:

“Nephilims aren’t meant to have wings.”

Jongin’s response was a slow, wide-eyed stare.

“Nephilims usually inherit more of their human parent’s traits in terms of physique and genetic makeup. The angel traits are more innate, such as healing, like mine, or depends on what class their angel parent hail from. Everyone knows angels have wings, but once they fall from grace, they not only sacrifice this but their immortality, as well." Sehun brushed the wayward hair away from his forehead. “It’s commonly unheard of for nephilims to have wings but not completely impossible for some to grow them out.”

“So those scars on your back...” Jongin trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

Sehun nodded. He knew what they looked like, having caught glimpses of them sometimes in the bathroom mirror when changing shirts. The skin along his shoulder blades was slightly raised from the scarring, the palest of pink in color. He’d had moments where he’d reach as far back and trace their length using his fingertips, the smoothness belying the morbid truth of their existence.

“The scars on my back were where my wings grew out. They’d still be there if they weren’t removed.”

“ _Removed?_ ” Jongin sounded so stunned he completely stopped walking. Sehun moved them over to the side so they weren’t blocking the way. “How is it done? How do nephilms grow wings?”

“Wings tend to grow when a nephilim is more angel than human. There’s no way to prove this unless struck by a sickness unique to our kind. A nephilim who’s more human than angel will survive because their body will interpret it as nothing more than a fever. But if it’s the other way around…”

Sehun swallowed hard. Jongin lightly pushed him forward so they could continue walking and, perhaps, to buy him more time.

“You caught the fever.” Jongin didn’t pose it as a question.

“The fever triggers the growth of wings. The human body isn’t genetically built to support wings, so it rejects them as an abnormality and leads to death.”

If Sehun closed his eyes, he’d see flashes of his nervous ten-year old self lying on the operating table, bright lights above almost blinding. He’d hear the distant cries of his mother from outside; the whispers of the nurses updating the surgeon of their progress. He’d remember the overwhelming heat caused by the fever, bones and vital organs feeling like they were melting; the excruciating pain of flesh splitting open as something foreign tore its way out of his back.

He’d remember seeing white feathers on the floor, undisturbed and tips stained red.

Sehun shook his head, and the image dispersed.

“I didn’t understand anything, at first. I was excited when my mom told me I caught the fever that gave wings, and it confused me why she looked so terrified. They’ve developed specialized vaccines for it now, but the fever was incurable in the past and surgery was the only option. A lot of nephilim surgeons didn’t perform operations of this scale. My parents risked it, anyway.”

He’d passed out and woke up to a successful procedure, but he’d carry the pain with him until old age. It would never fully go away, they’d informed him, though topical medication had been invented to suppress the unavoidable aches.

“How could nephilims undergo such cruel suffering?” Jongin’s voice trembled as he spoke. “And you were so young…” His hand found its way around Sehun’s arm, squeezing tight in the way that relayed his shock and commiseration.

Sehun lightly placed his hand on top of Jongin’s, hoping the touch could transfer his assurance. “The pain is more awful during thunderstorms. I think it’s my body associating the day of my surgery to the thunderstorm back then. But I’m okay now.”

“When your back hurts next time, let me put ointment for you,” Jongin told him. “Don’t suffer by yourself.”

He shouldn’t have, but the serious, earnest way in which Jongin said this had Sehun chuckling.

Jongin’s eyebrows drew together, awaiting an explanation.

“Your face—”

The rest of Sehun’s sentence was stolen by the first burst of laughter, then another, and another.

“Hey, I’m serious!” Jongin’s lips pursed, shoving Sehun on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to make you laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry.” One last bout of laughter before Sehun composed himself. He flashed the winning smile he used on students who visited the clinic for the first time. “I didn’t mean to hide this from you. I would’ve told you, eventually. I didn’t expect it to be soon, but no regrets.”

Jongin’s scowl faded to a tiny smile. “You’re always taking care of everyone around you, even if they’re total strangers and might not get anything in return. You should let someone take care of you, too.”

“Like who?”

A group of aunts on their bicycles sped past them in a neat line, attached bells ringing in rapid succession.

Sehun frowned, seeing Jongin’s lips move but not hear him.

“What? Could you repeat that?” Sehun asked, once the bicycles were gone.

“ _I said:_ there are plenty who can do it. Family is one. Friends are another. Or, who knows, someone close by waiting.”

Jongin walked off ahead, but not without Sehun catching the pout on his lips and the flush on his cheeks.

Sehun cocked his head in confusion. Was the humidity setting Jongin on edge for whatever reason? He caught up to him and spotted an ice cream shop nearby. Maybe the iced treat could help him think why Jongin recited an entire speech when he remembered, with complete clarity, that he only uttered a one-syllable response the first time.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

A pattern emerged.

Dinners every day, swinging by the gym on weekends, leaving for work together three mornings a week. Impromptu sleepovers one too many when either of them couldn’t be bothered returning to their own apartments after intense gaming sessions or movie marathons. Sleeping in the same space wasn’t a big issue anymore, although they spent more times passed out sprawled on the living room floor, too lazy to migrate once drowsiness hit.

The only thing Sehun questioned in this otherwise comfortable pattern was waking up too close a proximity to Jongin—without fail, no matter the distance between them the night prior. Often he was the small spoon in these situations, feeling much too warm when he woke in the mornings because Jongin radiated heat like three furnaces on full blast. Sometimes, he’d see Jongin’s sleeping face first thing, and he’d lie there tracing his features with his eyes and committing them to memory.

Mornings spent like this fueled Sehun’s want for things that might not come true. And that was dangerous, for expectations to grow, only to have them destroyed in the hands of the very person who made you vulnerable with or without their knowledge.

Jongin showed up in the clinic on a late Friday afternoon unannounced, both a pleasant surprise and stirring Sehun’s curiosity. Jongin whisked him away the moment he sent the last e-mail for the day, declaring he’d buy dinner for the both of them; that he’d like the restaurant he chose.

Jongin wasn’t wrong. The food was stellar and the crew cordial; the ambiance tranquil and posh, if not a bit too intimate for a casual dinner—or maybe Sehun’s opinion was influenced by the couples he saw in neighboring tables eating their meals while gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, unabashedly smitten.

A quick Naver search landed him on a popular blog post that listed the restaurant’s name as third in Seoul’s top ten hottest dating spots.

Sehun couldn’t help raising both eyebrows, heart racing as his eyes read the words over. Whether Jongin purposely left out this piece of information or genuinely didn’t know remained a question. He wanted an explanation but feared of what he might hear.

Two blocks of aimless walking later, they bumped into Youngho out of pure coincidence. Somehow, Youngho talked them into joining him and some friends for drinks. The bar was close by and Sehun was game, but he didn’t forget to ask Jongin’s opinion, too.

“I’m not a fan of drinking,” Jongin said, scrunching up his nose. Sehun should stop finding the tiniest things about Jongin adorable. “But I don’t mind tagging along if you’ll let me sip my iced tea in peace.”

“It’s cool. We won’t judge,” Youngho assured with an amused laugh. “Sehun’s not bad in holding his alcohol but gets carried away sometimes. Remember when you got wasted and started strip—”

Sehun slapped a hand over Youngho’s mouth. “We don’t speak of the dark times.”

Youngho’s friends were people Sehun had hung out with before. They welcomed Jongin’s addition no problem, all too eager to make space for him in their booth roomy enough for eight people when there was only five of them. Jongin sat quiet beside Sehun most of the time, more keen on listening to the endless flow of conversation but pitched in replies of his own on occasion.

A bottle of Estrella was set down in front of Jongin when the orders arrived. Sehun was about to intercept, but Jongin grabbed the bottle and took a swig, face twisting in disgust under three seconds.

“Good?” Sehun joked, despite knowing the answer.

“If you like horse piss, sure.” Jongin shrugged, gulping mouthfuls of iced tea. Sehun took the unfinished bottle and drank it for himself, marking his first beer for the night.

For a Friday night, the bar was relatively slow, but it lent an atmosphere conducive for relaxation and conversation that didn’t require shouting over the noise. The live band up front playing jazzy tunes helped enhance it, too. When Sehun reached for his second beer, a new band was setting up and more tables had been occupied.

One of Youngho’s friends left the table to answer a call. Youngho and the other searched for the washroom, but not without ordering side dishes first. Sehun drained the rest of his beer and contemplated starting on a third. Jongin took a good look at the interior and furniture, head turning every which way for a better view.

A man of tall stature arrived at their table carrying a tray of their ordered side dishes. He rattled off their names with enthusiasm and a most genial smile that slipped off his face when his eyes flitted from Sehun to Jongin.

And then Sehun saw it: a white light on this tall man’s chest, brightness sharp and telling.

“Jongin.”

The tall man spoke his name with familiarity; with an undercurrent of tenderness easily missed if you didn’t listen hard enough. Sehun didn’t know how he caught it, or why, but Jongin tensing beside him and the recognition in his eyes took him back to that rainy day meeting.

It felt like years, but Jongin’s mouth curved upward as he dipped his head in acknowledgment.

“Chanyeol-hyung.”

Sehun now had a name and face to the ex-boyfriend behind Jongin’s heartbreak. Adding more to the pile of tonight’s coincidences was Chanyeol’s revelation of owning this very bar during his and Jongin’s short-lived conversation, courtesy of Youngho and his friends’ return.

“His dream finally came true,” Jongin commented softly, probably more to himself than to Sehun.

Sehun took advantage of Youngho and his friends debating about the best beer brand and whispered, concerned, “Do you want to leave? I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Jongin shook his head. “I’m fine. I was just surprised to see him here, that’s all.”

The new band played R&B renditions of popular idol songs while Sehun enjoyed his third and final bottle. Jongin insisted on feeding him side dishes between sips. They called it a night on the fourth song, exchanging goodbyes and a promise of hanging out again.

They hadn’t walked fifteen paces down the sidewalk when a call of Jongin’s name stopped them.

Chanyeol looked relieved he’d caught up. A bit nervous, too, for reasons Sehun could guess but kept to himself.

“What is it?” Jongin asked, gentle in his inquiry but looking as confused as he sounded.

Chanyeol’s face mirrored his internal struggle; his hesitation. “Just… I haven’t seen you in a long time since… yeah.” A nervous laugh; a deep breath. “You look well. I’m glad.” His smile was lopsided, almost shy, but didn’t lack in sincerity.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” Jongin replied, with a smile of his own. “Congratulations on opening your own bar. You’ve worked hard, and you deserve it." Only honest laced his words. No hidden bitterness, no ounce of resentment.

Sehun fidgeted in place, feeling very much like an interloper watching the exchange. He wanted to excuse himself and walk away, but a masochistic side of him wanted to witness how the scene would pan out.

Chanyeol beamed. “Business has been pretty good.”

“But that’s not why you came out here.”

Sehun’s eyebrows sailed upward at the bold statement and the certainty in Jongin’s voice.

Chanyeol’s responding laugh was sheepish. He ran a hand over his nape. “Yeah, you got me there. It’s a bit of a slow night, so I was thinking of catching up. But only if you’re okay with it. I don’t want to impose.” He added the last two sentences in a hurry, as if bracing himself for rejection.

Jongin worried his lower lip between his teeth. Sehun saw through the masked indecision but waited for his answer. He won’t decide for Jongin or say anything to sway his decision. Jongin should choose what he wanted to do out of his own volition.

Jongin expelled a short sigh and turned to Sehun. “I’m staying back. Will you be okay by yourself?”

Sehun predicted this outcome, but the accuracy stung him for reasons irrational and petty. He suppressed the ugly emotions from breaking the surface by forcing out a laugh.

“Of course. I’ve done this before. Three bottles won’t have me tripping into a ditch.”

(Ingrained it in his head, with more force than the last reiteration, that he had no right feeling like this when he had no claim—just a pathetic, foolish crush on somebody who called him a friend and might never look at him the way he wanted.)

If Jongin thought he was exaggerating for no reason, he didn’t show it. He wrapped a hand around Sehun’s arm and squeezed. “Text me when you reach.”

 _Says the person who doesn’t care about his phone,_ the mean voice of Sehun’s anti-conscience retorted.

“See you,” Sehun chose to say, using the neutral reply on purpose.

He watched Chanyeol and Jongin’s retreating backs until they disappeared into the bar. Sehun stood lingering in place for an indeterminable amount of time, the hollowness in his chest expanding. He could always say he stayed because of concern. Friends could be concerned. Some exes could be as dense as bricks when taking a hint—except he never picked any hostile vibes from Chanyeol. Jongin had never said anything unpleasant about him in his passing anecdotes, either, and he didn’t recoil from Chanyeol’s request when he could’ve easily turned him down.

In the end, Sehun decided to trust Jongin’s judgment. Convinced himself this was for the best and chanted it like a mantra to the beat of his favorite EXO-CBX ballad during the subway ride.

The future held plenty of possibilities. Exes could stay exes, but rekindling flames wasn’t impossible. Sehun was curious of the outcome, if not unsure; but he already vowed a long time ago he’d stay by Jongin’s side and play whatever role he was given, and he meant it.

Even if his role and his wishes might not—would not—align as he so desired.

Sehun might’ve learned to want things, but he could also teach himself to curb unreasonable expectations.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin’s unimpressed frown looked severe from this angle where Sehun lay on his side in bed.

It looked twice more severe when Sehun looked at it sitting upright through eyes rubbed free from sleep.

Jongin’s presence at the edge of his bed wasn’t too surprising, having woken up to similar situations in the past. Although the longer Sehun sat blinking at a sulking Jongin, the louder the voice at the back of his head nagged he’d done something wrong.

“What sort of miracle pulled you out of bed at”—Sehun concealed a yawn using the back of his hand and pressed his phone—“ten in the morning on a Saturday?”

“I told you to text me when you reached last night.” Jongin’s frown deepened, highlighted by the arms folded across his chest.

“I did,” Sehun answered, sans confidence. He jogged through last night’s events and remembered replying to texts before passing out. He insisted on this and drew the unlock pattern on his phone for proof.

The unsent draft meant for Jongin confirmed the allegation.

“Sorry? Look, if it helps, I _did_ intend to keep my word.” Sehun showed Jongin his phone.

Jongin scrunched up his nose at the half-finished text. “I waited for your text, you know.” A childlike sulkiness coated his words, pouty face reminding Sehun of disgruntled puppies denied of treats. The expression stayed a moment longer before disappearing into one of mild concern. “Did you sleep okay? No hangover?”

“Nope, but you’re taking responsibility for waking me up by buying brunch.”

“…I think I like you better when you’re asleep.”

“Should’ve thought about that before your wallet was threatened.”

Not even Jongin shoving him on the shoulder and calling him a brat stopped Sehun from cackling.

In the end, Jongin bought brunch in a café of Sehun’s choosing. The place was famous for their buttermilk pancakes, which Sehun bathed with a generous amount of syrup. Jongin complained it was too sweet for his liking but single-handedly devoured the plate and ordered another one, this time for Sehun to enjoy by himself. Sehun couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased.

“How’d last night go?” Sehun tried and failed in keeping his curiosity at bay.

Jongin lifted his head, a tiny smile showing—the kind indicating good things had happened.

“Surprisingly well. I still can’t believe it. I didn’t realize how long we’ve been gone from each other’s lives until last night.” Jongin chuckled, then added, “A year ago, I couldn’t imagine myself talking to him. Probably because I was hurting then, so I didn’t want to see or think about him. But now… now, I feel at peace. And I had a few epiphanies.”

“Like…?”

“I’m perfectly fine not getting back together.” Jongin’s conviction resonated strong in his words. “I thought something might change after talking, but I felt nothing. No spark. And I was okay with that. I didn’t feel like I was losing a golden chance. The thought of Chanyeol-hyung being with someone else doesn’t bother or hurt me anymore. I hope he finds someone who could make him happier than I had. It might not have worked out between us, but he deserves happiness, too.”

Sehun thought back to Chanyeol’s light and sent a silent prayer for his mending. Jongin’s own had been the size of an acorn for months, dimmed in brightness and often easy to miss if Sehun wasn’t paying great attention.

He surely didn’t miss its disconcerting absence from Jongin’s chest right now, unused to seeing just the color of his shirts without anything odd sticking out and stealing interest.

“What does that mean? Jongin’s totally healed from his heartbreak?” Youngho asked come Monday, right after they were dismissed from the first staff meeting of the month. He let out a noise of amazement at Sehun’s nod. “What incredibly good news!”

Youngho’s grin carried a poorly-veiled insinuation Sehun caught and lifted a brow at.

“I’m happy for Jongin, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Or you could make it mean something. C’mon, Sehun, do you think it’s better wondering forever and dwelling in what-ifs?” Youngho countered, calm in his persuasion. “Take some of the optimism you dispense to others and use it for yourself. I’ve seen how happy you are with him, even if I break out in hives because _gross_ ”—he put on an exaggerated show of hurling—“so imagine how much grosser you can be if you take a leap of faith.”

Sehun should be climbing the stairs by now, but the most he’d done was take a step and stay there. Youngho should be heading to his first class by now, but he hung back waiting for an answer.

“Should I dare hope?” Sehun asked, drumming listless fingers on the banister.

“Nothing’s over unless you give up. Do _you_ want to give up without trying?”

Sehun didn’t reply and continued up the stairs, but it didn’t change the fact that Youngho had a point.

It was true Jongin could pursue romantic relationships with others now, if he so wished, but not necessarily with him.

It didn’t mean Sehun couldn’t change his mind, though.

“Here? Are you sure?” Jongin wondered aloud, scanning their surroundings.

“I was tipped by friends about this spot offering the best view.” Sehun spread out the picnic blanket on the grass, smoothing out the creases. “If they turn out wrong, they won’t hear the end of it from me.”

On a sunny mid-afternoon in October, they walked around the riverside of Yeouido Hangang Park in search of said spot. Hundreds of others like them were settling in the spaces they’d chosen by twos and groups, mostly chatting about the fireworks showcase tonight. They munched on snacks they bought from the food trucks on the way to the riverside, aside from watching street performers wooing the crowd with songs foreign and local, and browsing assorted selections on sale in the flea market.

Sehun’s mother had surprised him with tickets three days before the event on his recent visit home. She had acquired them from her boss, but prior social commitments prevented her from going. Only one name had immediately crossed Sehun’s mind when she told him to take someone.

When the sun disappeared below the horizon, an announcement of the fireworks show starting in five minutes had everyone abuzz. The air was charged with excitement and rippled through the crowd. Everywhere Sehun turned to look, people had their gadgets at the ready in preparation of preserving this moment in their lives.

Fireworks shot through the darkened sky and exploded into an array of colors and shapes. The crowd let out collective gasps of amazement with each new display. Sehun was sure his throat would be hoarse come morning from his never-ending cheers every time the sky lit up, and his ears might ring for a while from the loud noises, but watching an international event of this scale was worth it.

Watching the fireworks illuminate Jongin’s grin in red, white, blue as he clapped and pointed at the more interesting displays made it twice the worth.

“That was an awesome show! Thanks for inviting me,” Jongin told him once they escaped the more populous areas of the park and into the less crowded streets. Lampposts lined the length of the sidewalk and provided ample lighting, offering an almost intimate atmosphere and a reprieve to Sehun’s recovering ears.

“I didn’t want to look foolish by myself, so...” Sehun trailed off on purpose, laughing when Jongin pulled a fake affronted face and swatted him on the chest.

“I should’ve known.” Jongin glared at him, albeit halfhearted, and burst out laughing.

Sehun really liked his laugh. Pleasant, joyful, and something he could listen to for a long, long time.

Jongin continued gushing over the fireworks while walking. Sehun watched him unmoving from where he stood. Smiled at the confusion in Jongin’s features when he whipped around three lampposts away and realized he wasn’t following.

“Don’t just stand there; hurry up!” Jongin told him but walked back, anyway.

“Stay right there!” Sehun barked, pointing at him.

Jongin halted, but the confusion stayed on his face.

Sehun never thought the day would come when his heart would brim with so much affection his rib cage felt ten sizes too small—and all for one person he thought he’d be content staying friends with but obviously not anymore. Maybe this was the same realization many people drew courage from because they stopped fearing their own hearts and learned to be braver by taking risks, even in exchange for nothing.

“You’re still wrong. The fireworks by the Italian team are the best. South Korea paled in comparison, and you know it.”

Jongin scowled. “We’re really arguing about this again?”

“No. Because that’s not what I wanted to say.” Sehun felt it, the slow spike of his adrenalin, one he hoped he could ride the high of until he finished. “It doesn’t matter which country’s better. I don’t care if we have dissenting opinions. What I liked most about the event is watching the fireworks together.

“I like doing things with you. I like it when you laugh at funny things, even if my arm hurts from the beating it gets because you can’t help your excitement. I like your calm acceptance of things and didn’t run away when I told you what I am. I like it when you smile because it’s really beautiful, but I like it best when you smile at me, for me, _because_ of me.”

One would think confessions at his age might be a little more suave and better planned out; but here stood Sehun, dressed down and reeking of the day’s filth, pouring his feelings out in the most unromantic spot in the world.

Surprise stole across Jongin’s face, sending Sehun in a slight panic, although it didn’t last. Jongin’s lips quirked into a soft smile, the softest Sehun had seen on him yet.

“I like dogs.”

Sehun huffed. “Understatement of the century. You like dogs so much you practically stop to pat them when you walk in the streets.”

Jongin’s smile widened as he nodded, retracing his way back in slow, measured footsteps.

“I like reading, too. I like dancing. Chicken and pizza. Being bought and fed dinner when I’m too busy and lose track of time. Gaming and sleepovers. Making sure you’re okay during thunderstorms and applying ointment on your shoulder blades when it hurts too bad.”

Sehun shouldn’t feel as giddy as he did right now. One should never get ahead of themselves in case the punch line was too vicious to recover from. But when Jongin was looking at him like he was the only person who mattered in the entire world, it was hard not to anticipate. Hope.

Jongin now stood in front of him, tips of their sneakers close to touching. It was overwhelming how one person alone could make Sehun feel so much; how he could easily lose himself in the boundless universe of his eyes.

“You know what else I like? Umbrellas with Bichon Frises in the tackiest yellow orange color I have ever seen.”

“Did you just praise and insult my favorite umbrella in one breath?” Sehun scoffed. He would’ve full-on sulked if not for the overpowering grin.

Jongin laughed; placed a hand on Sehun’s nape so he could press their foreheads together. “The tacky color makes up for the owner with the softest heart and a kindness that could rival a saint’s. You might know who he is. Maybe you’ve seen him around.”

“I heard he fell for someone and believed it was forever unrequited,” Sehun answered, playing along. His nape felt warm where Jongin touched, warmer than anything he used to protect himself from the cold.

“I heard this someone was waiting to make sure he’d completely moved on from a past relationship before trying again. He didn’t want to rush and ruin things because he thinks the other person is too good to be treated as a rebound. Because that person is worth it.”

Jongin brushed his lips against his cheek in the lightest of kisses. He pulled back with a smile so charming Sehun almost melted into a puddle of goo.

“You are worth it.”

 

 

☆彡

 

 

Jongin looked good in glasses.

Sehun couldn’t understand his initial claims of not looking good in them; hence, his preference for contacts. What could Jongin be conscious about? Were they looking at the same reflection when checking in the mirror? Sehun wished he could loan his eyes to Jongin so he could show him what he saw.

And what Sehun saw was a gorgeous man who turned reading stretched out on the couch look like a photo shoot. It didn’t matter if he was clad in a worn-out hoodie and the baggiest of sweatpants. Every position Jongin switched to looked like he was posing for an invisible camera. Sehun might or might not have taken stolen some shots on his phone for private cooing. Jongin might or might not be aware of what he was doing and let him do as he pleased.

The best thing about this lazy Saturday afternoon view, aside from being a common occurrence, was that Sehun had it exclusively to himself. Not just on weekends, but almost every day now that winter break arrived. Sehun thought it would be a one-time thing, but Jongin declared Sehun’s couch comfier than his and hogged it as his unofficial reading space when they decided staying in was better than exposing themselves to the bitter cold. Sehun was pretty sure Jongin’s couch was springier and provided more space but said nothing.

He said nothing, either, when Jongin’s toothbrush found itself into an empty cup next to his own in the bathroom, or Jongin’s clothes took up some space in his closet, or Jongin’s books slotted themselves in his otherwise filled bookshelf. Not that Sehun had any room to comment in the first place when some of his belongings started staying over Jongin’s, too. The accessibility of each other’s apartments further enabled their whims of sleeping over unannounced, although Jongin voiced his interest in not renewing his lease when it expired. Jongin had approached the subject carefully, as if gauging his reaction, but Sehun was all too welcoming of it.

Spending Christmas together as a couple for the first time felt special. Very different from the few hours they had spent together last year sharing an assortment of cake slices and watching whatever movies the winner of rock-paper-scissors decided. Now they’d taken it up a notch by watching a ballet performance of _The Nutcracker_ , basked in and absorbed the holiday cheer found on the streets on the way home, and ate a fancier type of cake in the warmth and comfort of Sehun’s apartment.

Like usual, Jongin was helpless against the assault of pink frosting that stained the corners of his mouth as he ate. Sehun wiped it away with an expert swipe of his thumb, too used to this situation to not even grab napkins or act surprised anymore.

Except Jongin confused him when he held his wrist in place, nipped at the pad of his thumb, and then sucked it into his mouth.

The kittenish licks cleaning his thumb free of the frosting had Sehun swallowing hard. The gesture was sexy and hot, although Jongin was smiling around the finger with the most innocent face known to man like he wasn’t in the middle of a wicked act sending his nerve endings aflame.

Jongin slid his thumb out of his mouth but didn’t let go of his wrist. Instead, he tugged Sehun close to him until he was settled on his lap, thighs slotted on either side of his hips. Jongin’s lips against his were soft and sinful all at once, stoking a fire that burned low in Sehun’s gut. Their kiss tasted of an unrivaled sweetness no amount of sugary frosting could conceal.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” Jongin whispered when they parted, but not before stealing one more kiss. “This is okay, right?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Sehun rubbed the tip of his nose against Jongin’s, eyes falling close.

The most they’d done since getting together was trade chaste kisses and cuddle. Sehun wanted, yes, since he would be lying if he said otherwise; but he couldn’t ask for something Jongin wasn’t ready to give or place unneeded pressure on him.

“I want this.” Jongin sounded clear and resolute with the declaration, even as strong desire swirled in his eyes. “I’ve wanted this, and I wish you do, too.”

Sehun held out his arms in assent. “I’m all yours.”

Skin on skin contact was an exhilarating experience, one so indescribable no words could do it justice. The less clothing they wore, the more Sehun craved. And Jongin let him take, baring everything in an offer of utmost adoration and trust. Desire thrummed between them, breathless exhales and pleased moans mingling; the soft, sweet press of their mouths in all-consuming kisses as they explored and moved together. Jongin muffled his gasps of urgency into his shoulder, holding him close and tight—absorbing, wanting. Sehun’s desperate need to be impossibly closer as they sought and took their pleasure from each other, burrowing his face against the soft skin of Jongin’s neck as their hearts synced as one.

In the hazy afterglow, engulfed in their combined body heat and damp skin cooling, Sehun wondered if he was allowed to be this happy; if this happiness was meant for him, or if he was living on borrowed time before it slipped away from his grasp.

Then Jongin cupped his cheek and drew his face toward him to nose along his jawline, and Sehun knew he had nothing to fear.

 

 

☆彡

 

 

“Thank you very much, Nurse Oh! See you tomorrow!”

“No more jumping around, okay? Be careful on the way home.”

Sehun waved goodbye to the boisterous third grader, who waited for his mother in the clinic to take him home. A bold leap from the playground bench ended with a twisted right ankle and a concerned utility worker rushing him to the clinic.

Sehun glanced outside his window, admiring at the fully-bloomed cherry blossoms surrounding the greenhouse. The new school year saw a surge of students and getting to know them in and out of his clinic. He received three visits since school started, the third grader included, and he prayed the number of accidents and sickness would remain low.

The rest of his day breezed by relatively quick. Updating the transferees’ files didn’t take long, following up on a sixth grader who fell ill on the first two days of school required low effort because of their speedy recovery, and the scheduling of the annual vision, hearing, weight and height screenings for each grade wasn’t as time-consuming as he first thought. Breaks were spent with Youngho, who couldn’t stop fawning over his new batch of students and his anticipation in introducing them to the wonderful world of English.

“Your new brood sound like real darlings,” Sehun commented, sipping his chocolate milk. “I hope they stay innocent until the end of the school year.”

“ _I beg your pardon._ ” Youngho folded his arms across his chest and huffed in mock affront. “I teach nothing but beautiful and pure things to my little angels!”

“Suddenly you don’t remember your students from last year asking me why I’m called Nurse Booty?”

It was an honest slip up on Youngho’s part. He’d been teasing Sehun in the corridors and using the nickname liberally, realizing a beat too late they had an audience of first graders following right behind them. Questions had been asked. (“What’s a ‘booty,’ Mr. Seo?”) Youngho had explained as he struggled not to laugh. (“It’s… a type of peach.”) Sehun had maintained a cool façade, despite the heat of embarrassment flaring up in his cheeks, but he died a little inside when children visited the clinic and called him Nurse Booty in innocent voices, the naïve belief he was nicknamed after a fruit spreading far and wide.

Youngho let out an undignified squawk. “I already made a clarification! I told them not to call you that anymore!”

Sehun put on a show of being unconvinced, though he had long let the mishap pass. He just derived a mischievous sort of glee in seeing Youngho panic by raising the issue. Youngho understood it was all in good fun, anyway.

A drop of rain landed right on Sehun’s forehead upon arriving at the bus stop later that afternoon, followed by one more, two, four. He noticed the overcast sky but didn’t expect the rain. Good thing he brought his favorite umbrella, smiling when he opened it and greeted by the many Bichon Frises.

He checked his phone and saw no reply from Jongin. Typical, but not something he worried about. They already agreed to meet in front of the convenience store where they first met at six, and Jongin had never once been late.

Sehun’s smile grew bigger when he saw Jongin standing there already, shielding himself from the rain with an umbrella similar to his in size and shape but red in color and had brown poodles printed on it doing various things like chasing a ball, stretching its front legs, untangling itself from a scarf. It was probably out of sheer luck that Sehun found the umbrella during a thrift shop visit on a whim.

Jongin saw him and broke out into a grin as he neared.

“Have you been waiting long?” Sehun asked.

"No, I just got here five minutes ago. Let’s go?”

It felt natural now, to reach out for Jongin’s hand and vice versa wherever they went. At times Sehun still found himself in awe on how he’d luck out on someone like Jongin, but he was immensely grateful for the blessing.

“Nice umbrella.” Sehun’s mouth twitched into a teasing smile as he bumped shoulders with Jongin.

He’d given the umbrella to Jongin as a birthday present. He didn’t expect Jongin to use it, but he did. More surprising was that Jongin hadn’t dismantled it in some way or lost it, yet. He’d voiced this phenomenon and earned himself a laugh and shoulder slap combo. It did touch him, though, when Jongin said he was very careful of the umbrella because it was a gift from him.

“It’s so-so,” Jongin remarked, coy in expression, mouth quirked into a knowing smirk. “Too childish for my taste, but it serves its purpose.”

Sehun frowned in playful annoyance then pouted. “A couple who uses childish umbrellas together live long and happy lives forever.”

“I’m pretty sure you made that one up.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

The rain continued falling softly on top of their umbrellas. Jongin let out a soundless laugh and shook his head. He sidled closer to Sehun’s side, squeezing his hand tighter.

“No, it doesn’t.”

 

 

 

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. **雨宿り** [ _amayadori; n._ ]: taking shelter from the rain
> 
> 2\. [Busan International Magic Festival](http://english.visitkorea.or.kr/enu/ATR/SI_EN_3_2_1.jsp?cid=1351398) is a thing.
> 
> 3\. So is [Hanwha Seoul International Fireworks Festival](http://english.visitkorea.or.kr/enu/ATR/SI_EN_3_2_1.jsp?cid=790394).


End file.
